


Tales of Thedas - Fictober 2018

by ForeverWhimsy



Category: Anthem (Video Game), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect Trilogy, The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Dragon Age II - Mark of the Assassin DLC, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fictober 2018, Fluff, Halamshiral, Humor, M/M, Skyhold, Tevinter Imperium, The Hanged Man (Dragon Age), The Winter Palace (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:53:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 22,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverWhimsy/pseuds/ForeverWhimsy
Summary: Includes Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Anthem and The Arcana ficlets.Pairings: Solavellan, Cullavellan, Hawke/Anders, Hawke/Fenris, Warden/Anders, Owen/Freelancer, FemShep/Kaidan, Julian/Apprentice and fics w/o pairings.Some chapters include spoilers.See Notes for full details.





	1. A Little Lipstick Never Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age themed Fictober Challenge 2018  
> 1-3: Lavellan’s dress causes a stir at the Winter Palace.  
> 4: Cullen and Lavellan argue about Solas (Trespasser SPOILERS)  
> 5: Dorian takes care of Trevelyan after too much drink.  
> 6: Narrative of MotA from Fenris POV.  
> 7: Corypheus finds the orb (SPOILERS)  
> 8-9: Lavellan has trouble adjusting. (SPOILERS)  
> 10: Lavellan helps Cullen with his lyrium withdrawal  
> 11: Solas...does things. (Trespasser SPOILERS)  
> 12: Mini Scene Pre-Halamshiral  
> 13: Dorian tries to impress his father.  
> 14: Hawke considers hooking up with Anders.  
> 15: Hawke has a surprise party!  
> 16: Fenris deals with the aftermath of his breakup  
> 17-18: The Inquisitor got drunk. Really drunk.  
> 19: Lavellan and Solas battle Venatori.  
> 20: The Warden receives news from Kirkwall.  
> 21: The Inquisition Council debate how to handle Redcliffe.  
> 22: Owen messes with the Freelancer’s javelin.  
> 23: The Freelancer is confronted by change. (SPOILERS)  
> 24: Lavellan accepts Solas’ decision. (SPOILERS)  
> 25: The night before Corypheus attacks.  
> 26: Julian and the Apprentice try to escape the guards.  
> 27: Solas prepares for his final move. (AU, SPOILERS referenced)  
> 28: Kaidan and Anderson discuss moving on. (SPOILERS)  
> 29: Shepard deals with Kaidan post-Horizon.  
> 30-31: Lavellan partners with Solas (Modern)

“Are you sure about this, Dorian?” She smoothed the silky fabric over her stomach and hips one more time before meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“You look radiant.” He propped himself up from the curled and dozing position he'd donned while she got ready. “This type of garment is the latest trend in Minrathous. The Tevinter women would kill you as soon as look at you; you put their own fashion to shame.” He kissed her on the cheek and for a brief moment she felt like she wasn't about to walk into a pit of vipers.

“But what if—”

Dorian waved one hand above his head as though flicking the worry right from the air. “Whatever that little mind of yours is worried about, it won't happen. You just focus on twarting an assassinantiom attempt, looking better than every single person in this palace, and making our resident apostate’s heart go pitter-patter.

She felt the heat in her cheeks and hid the blush behind her hands.

A laughed bubbled up from deep in Dorian’s chest. “You two aren’t the most discreet, you know.” His voice rose an octave and half, “Oh, Solas, tell me about how you seduce spirits in the Fade.”

She punched him gently in the arm and grumbled, “It’s not like that.” When he just continued to laugh she grabbed his wrist and made toward the door. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“Stop!” Dorian yelled suddenly and then stared at the deep cut of her emerald silk dress on her back before going around to the front and studying the neckline. “Oh, darling.”

It didn’t sound like a loving pet name. “What?” She said, alarmed.

“Your dress is on backward.”

“No it isn’t.” She dismissed him out of hand and made toward the door again.

“Trust me, sorora, it’s on backward. The whole point of this dress in Tevinter is the slinky fabric and the plunging neckline. If you wear it like that, you’re only getting half the effect.” He plucked at the thin strap and dared her to correct it with an arched eyebrow.

She growled at him through clenched teeth, but proceeded to pull the dress down just under her arms and twist the fabric around her torso , all the while ignoring Dorian’s cringe and startled cries that she’d wrinkle it.

“There, now nothing is left to the imagination. Happy?”

“Solas will be.”

He hopped out of reach before her fist could reach his shoulder. 


	2. Courtyard Stumblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Fictober challenge list...but honestly, I’m using Fictober to get in the habit of writing a little everyday. I was still inspire by the whole “omg her dress” thing. So, that’s what I went with. When I run out of steam, I’ll go back to the themes.
> 
> I know, what a rule breaker lol

“…Lady Inquisitor, Mistress Lavellan.”

His mouth went dry and his sentence to the elven servant petered out limply when she entered. The dazzling emerald color of her dress was enough to draw his eye, standing apart from the muted navies, aubergines, and—for the daring Orlesian—golds, but that wasn’t what left him breathless. Lavellan had begun to descend the steps into the courtyard and with every step a dramatic slit would ride high onto her thigh, exposing one of her lithe, slender legs. Even worse, was the sway of the plunging neckline, teasing cleavage with even the smallest of movements.

He turned his back to her and did his best to continue the conversation with Dinala, the sweet, but plain elven servant, all the while cursing his self-restraint. He’d barely said another sentence when he felt a warm hand touch the top of his shoulder. He didn’t have to turn to know that it was Ori. He could feel the gentle pulse of her magic thrum from her hand, through the thick velvet formalwear Josephine had picked out for him, and disperse throughout his entire body. He smiled despite himself as he turned and saw that as stunning as the dress was, her green eyes still outshined it all.

“Lethallan,” his words were too breathy for a man his age. He should know better. Oh, he should know better.

Her smile ripped through him. 

“I feel so out of place.”

Ori tugged at the thin fabric to hide her chest as she complained and Solas mutters a string of ancient Elvish under his breath, willing his eyes not to wander.

“Sorry?”

Void, take you, she was born millennia too late for you. He felt his cheeks color despite himself. He had no witty quip or historical fact to spew, despite standing in a historically rich and tragic palace. Instead he swallowed hard against the sandpaper in his throat and heard himself say, “You are so beautiful.”

Her eyes widened, a look of shock or fear, but he couldn’t ascertain which. Before he could walk back his compliment, retreat until they were both on solid and comfortable ground, Dorian had sidled up to her and draped a languid arm around her bare shoulders. Jealousy coiled hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach.

Dorian must’ve noticed because he leaned over and kissed Ori chastely on the cheek…while maintaining eye contact with him. When Solas bristled, Dorian only laughed in his robust, good natured way and winked.

“I hate to break up what I’m sure has been just…riveting, but I must borrow her. Festivities are starting.” The slight was mild, but Solas still ached at it’s veracity. If he was honest, they hadn’t had a natural conversation since he’d stolen her away in her dreams their first night at Skyhold.

He nodded and watched them go, Ori throwing one last glance over her porcelain shoulder at him as Dorian lead her away.

Solas sighed. Everything really was easier for him in the Fade.


	3. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme: “How Can I Trust You”
> 
> Still doing the dress fic, but honestly, there is zero plot going on here, so I’ll probably do something else soon. Or try to find some plot somehow...

We shouldn't. We shouldn't. We shouldn't. 

That's what he'd said, right? “Damn hobo elf.” She muttered darkly.

“You're an elf.” Dorian reminded her.

“Damn hobo apostate.”

“You're an apostate.” Varric added, huffing up the stairs behind them.

“Damn hobo.”

Both men grinned wide. “Quite right.” Dorian gave her hand a reassuring squeeze at the towering double doors. “Everyone's masks in place?”

Ori’s brow scrunched in confusion.

“He means metaphorical masks, Plucky. You just go out there and knock ‘em dead. Or keep ‘em from being knocked dead. You're choice.”

She nodded a silent goodbye to her friends before allowing the attendant to open the doors (Creators, who needs doors that big, anyway?). The hall was just as expansive as the doors. A large staircase swept out in front of her before splitting and encircling the front half of the dance floor. Josephine was gesturing wildly for her to begin her descent. As she began down the first set of stairs, the slit exposing her leg was too hard to ignore. She fumbled with her skirts and teetered slightly on one step. Josephine caught her eye and began to mime an exaggerated smile, her arms gracefully out at her sides as though she were gliding. Ori got the hint and tried her best to stop touching her dress.

The introductions were over and done with a haze. Ori stood on the balcony’s edge, an attempt to escape the suffocating heat and will her head to stop spinning. Her ears pricked to the quiet sound of feet shuffling behind her. She groaned inwardly; these nobles would never leave her alone. If she could just get a moment to herself, maybe she could figure out—

Oh.

“Are you okay?”

“You know me, I’m never down for long.” She tried to sound playful, but she had a feeling she just sounded self-pitying.

Solas nodded, possibly even a small bow, and began to turn toward the door.

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she heard herself blurt out. All the color from her face drained, she could hear rushing in hear ears, and—despite the chilling breeze—she was so warm she felt a little ill.

He was still facing the door, but he had stopped walking. That was a good sign, she supposed.

“I just mean…,” the words began to flow from her a such a flurry she would’ve been hard pressed to stop, even if threatened, “you’re so different from everyone else. You never say what you actually think or feel. You just run hot and cold. You pull up close and soak up all the attentions you can, until I’m certain you—,” she swallowed. “But then you pull away, putting so much distance between us, I’m certain I’ve done something to gravely offend you. I never know where I stand and I just can’t—”

His mouth was on hers, so hard and fast she hadn’t even seen him move. But, Creators, his mouth. He was a living contradiction: soft and hard, smooth and rough, yielding and demanding. One hand held tightly low on her hip, while the other wound into her hair, pulling a couple ringlets loose from their pins. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. All she could focus on was the kiss. The warmth spreading throughout her body, burning wherever he touched her. The subtle taste of lyrium dancing between them as his tongue played at her bottom lip.She took a step in, desperate to deepen what was already a breathtaking kiss, but he pulled away.

His eyes were wide and beseeching, sorrowful to have parted with her. He touched the back of his hand to his lips, a quiet smile just barely noticeable as Cullen’s voice rang out. “There you are, Inquisitor! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”


	4. Will That Be All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trespasser Spoilers

Her advisors and Cass—err—Divine Victoria stared at her. The room was deadly silent, even the constant scratching of Josephine’s pen had stopped. She scratched at the nub where her arm suddenly stopped and dropped her eyes, certain of their thoughts.

“Inquisitor, are you…” Josephine cleared her throat daintily at Lavellan’s returned stare. “I mean to say, is it the best uses of our resources to—”

Lavellan’s stare turned cold and her advisor’s voice stuttered to a halt. “He feels he’s trapped; if Solas knew there were other options, he wouldn’t go through with this. I know it. He’s not—”

Cullen’s hand clasped around her arm. “A word?”

Flashbulb memories of Solas guiding her through the Frostbacks blurred her vision. By the time she was able to fight back the images she found herselfacross the hall and in an empty library. Cullen was standing before her, arms rigidly on his hips, eyes cast down.

His stance worried her. She’d been counting on Cullen’s ever-present support. He’d been a stalwart force for her throughout the entire ordeal with Corypheus and he’d even helped her cope with Solas’ absence. He had stumbled upon her in the rotunda in the early morning after the celebration. He had stepped gingerly over Varric’s drunkenly unconscious form in the doorway, but quickened his step when he had realized she’d been crying. He didn’t ask why; anyone who had been paying attention would’ve known. Instead he pulled her from Solas’ desk chair to his chaise lounge and held her as she cried, whispering calming nonsense against her temple, ruffling wisps of her hair. The sun rose as her sobbing began to ebb, as her bones began to settle into Cullen’s strong yet gentle embrace, as he whispered her name over and over, his breath warming her ear.

“Orianna…,” his words echoed the memory, but his voice was heavy with disappointment instead of laced with the subtleties of desire.

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Cullen, please don’t start.”

“No! I’ve sat back long enough. I’ve watched as he—”

She started back toward the door, not willing to listen to his lecture. What business was it of his, anyway? As she opened it, his hand pushed it closed again, pulling the handle from her grasp. She turned to face him, bristling, but was caught unawares when his hands were still pressed against the door, his arms caging her.

“Listen to me, Ori,” His voice softened. His forehead dipped against hers and she found herself allowing it with baited breath. “I watched as he dragged you along, made you vie for every scrap of attention he tossed your way.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he pressed his forehead gently against hers and continued. “He disparaged your culture at every turn, going so far to even remove your vallaslin.” Cullen reached up to stroke where the faded red marks had graced her cheek, but Ori slapped it away before he touched her. She pushed away from the door and out from Cullen’s caged arms.

“How dare you! You weren’t—You don’t—” She pressed the meat of her palms hard into her eyes willing the stinging of coming tears to stop. “You didn’t know him like I did.” Her words were cold and clipped.

“You’re right about one thing. I didn’t know him, but Ori…” Cullen didn’t say anything else until Ori turned away from the window, finally facing him again. “Ori, you didn’t know him either.”

The words washed over her like ice water. She shuddered and wracked her brain for some type of argument. She knew him, of course she knew him. He was the quiet, clever apostate who hated tea and always needed help darning his tunic. He always smelled of parchment, lyrium, and linseed oil from his paints. He loved to argue magical theory with Dorian, but he hated to lose. How could he accuse her of not knowing him?

She startled slightly when she realized Cullen was still talking. “—terror attack at the Temple of Sacred Ashes! He played us all. He wanted us to think he was the unassuming mage who was there to help out of the goodness of his heart, but truly he was there to make sure his plan to commit genocide hadn’t gone awry.”

Ori covered her face with her hands and tried to stifle a groaning yell. “He isn’t genocidal! He feels trapped. He thinks he’s made this monumental mistake and the only way to right this wrong is to start over from scratch, but that isn’t true. I just need a little time to—”

But Cullen was still talking over her. “How can you say he isn’t genocidal?” The Commander’s voice nearly cracked. “His entire plan began when he gave a magical object—an object so powerful that no one should have had it in the first place—to a Tevinter Magister who practices the darkest kinds of Blood Magic, which all resulted in the deaths of thousands of innocent mages, templars, and clerics!”

Ori’s chest was heaving with angry breaths, but her voice was small, barely above a whisper. “He made a mistake.”

Cullen let out a barking laugh. “A mistake?! Ori, a mistake is when I accidentally sent the report meant for Rylen in the Western Approach to Charter in Crestwood. It was inconvenient for two days, but nobody died because of it!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cullen.”

“I want you to acknowledge that Solas is someone we need to be arming ourselves against. He isn’t someone who needs saving. He isn’t even someone who wants saving! He is a radicalized mage who needs to be brought to justice!”

Silence hung uncomfortably in the air between them. Ori turned away, intent on picking at the splintering wood window frame instead of continuing to argue. Her eyes stung, but she hadn’t let Solas see her cry, she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Cullen. As if the though had beckoned him to her side, Cullen crossed the room and stood at her back. His hand ghosted up and down her arm and she hated herself for reveling in the affection.

“Ori, forgive me.”

She sniffled quietly.

“I know you loved him.”

She turned, caving into the need to sob, and buried herself against Cullen’s warm chest, her arms tucked between them as he wrapped her tightly in a hug. He held her for a couple minutes, careful not to say another word, until her shoulders stopped shaking.

“I know you loved him,” Cullen finally repeated, “but maybe you loved a lie.”

She pushed away from his chest, her eyes narrowed cruelly. She breathed in and out twice before finally asking, “Will that be all, Commander? I believe we have a rescue to mount.”


	5. Drunk and Disorderly

Ellaria silently thanked the Maker that no one was in the a Great Hall as she stumbled through the doorway, the door slamming against one of those hideous Ferelden dog statues Josephine insisted on lining the court with. The echoes had nearly died by the time she reached the door to her private chambers. She rested her forehead against the door and with a heaving sigh, lamented, “How do I tell him?”

“With a great big kiss, darling.”

She startled, reaching for a weapon with a hand that was already full with a whiskey bottle, and lost her footing. She would've fallen for a third time since starting toward her chambers if the dusky mage hadn't gracefully leaped to catch her by the shoulders.

“Dear me, love, does your little Chantry boy know you drink like a fish?” Ellaria searched for a biting retort, but when she looked up at Dorian’s smile, she saw nothing but kindness.

“Dorian,” she started to whine, but a wave of nausea overtook her.

“Oh, oh! I know that look!” He yelped and led her to a large vase a few feet away barely making it in time. “Oh, treasure,” he cooed as he held her long hairaway from her face. “You'll be okay.”

Once Ellaria was fairly certain she had nothing left in her stomach, she slid down the wall and looked up at Dorian who was still smiling, albeit a little less broadly. “Remind me to buy Josie a new vase. I don't think I'll remember much of this.”

“Of course,” he said and slid down to sit next to her. “May I?” He extended a magically chilled hand toward her.

“Please,” she was almost crying again, but this time she was uncertain if it was her situation with Cullen and Solas or Dorian’s kindness.

Dorian had pressed his chilled hand against the back of her neck and she felt almost immediate relief from the unabating nausea. She leaned into him and hugged him tightly around the waste. “Thank you.”

“You're quiet welcome. You know I'd do anything for you. Anything except lie. And that is precisely why I must tell you, you smell worse than a stablehand who works with the horses and sleeps with the dogs. And I don't mean the Ferelden women.” His eyes sparkled as he chuckled warmly.“Up you go, I’ll help.”

He hoisted Ellaria to a standing position and then threw her over his shoulder. “Do let me know if you feel ill again, won't you?” Without waiting for a response he started up the flight of stairs to Ellaria's private chambers.

“I suppose I should've asked, you do have a private bath, yes? I can't imagine they'd make the Inquisitor use the bathhouse like the rest of the common rabble.”

Ellaria managed a laugh.

“Ah! She lives!”

“It's in that closet. It's usually brought out for me first thing in the morning along with a dressing screen.”

“My, my, aren't we fancy.” He poked her in the ribs gently. “Any scented oils?”

“Um, that's usually all done by the time I'm awake, too. I guess, closet?” Ellaria’s inebriation had begun to abate and she was left with a gradually increasing headache.

She laid on her chaise and waited as Dorian bustled about humming something to himself.

“What is that?”

“What”

“That song. It sounds terribly sad.”

“Oh, I suppose it is, in a way. It's a Tevinter lullaby. All ready!” He announced quickly.

Ellaria opened her eyes and saw the most beautiful bath she could imagine. It was her usual large copper basin, but it was full of steaming water, and overflowing with multicolored bubbles, some even floating whimsically above the tub. When she stepped closer she could smell an oil she hadn't used in her morning baths, but it was warm and calming and reminded her of waking up early on a summer morning when she was staying with her mother and the Dalish.

“Oh, Dorian…” she was breathless.

“I am a master craftsman.” He boasted, puffing his chest out proudly.

“I can see that.”

“This however, isn't just for relaxing. It's for therapy. Get in and tell Master Pavus what's bothering you, Treasure.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, but when he pulled away she saw him crinkle his nose slightly. “Better sooner than later, I think, yes?” He laughed and soon Ellaria found herself laughing with him.


	6. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the first chapter of a WIP, so if you like this look for it in the next few months :)

Twilight finds its way to the Hightown market which has closed early due to some holiday celebrating the dead. Everyone else is gathering at the Chantry to celebrate the martyrdom of Andraste or something, I don't know. Aveline told me about it when she asked me to tell Hawke she couldn't make it tonight; the City Guard needed her at the Chantry. I guess Hawke didn't tell her about us.

I kick my feet impatiently at a small mound of dirt. “This is usually when we're ambushed,” I grouse taking care to not look up. I know that if I look up he will be looking at me with those lapis blue eyes full of hurt, anger…regret.

“Why? It's not always an ambush?” Varric replies indignantly. “All I know is it had something to do with Hawke and nobles. Edge is usally very reliable.”

Ugh. Edge. Edge is a slimy cretin who hangs around far too often. His information is usually reliable, that’s true; but whenever he comes by to give a job to Hawke he drapes his arms around him in a lecherous hug that is nigh impossible to break. Of course, everyone is like that around Aedan Hawke. The man has an infectious smile and a string of kind words for everyone he meets. Everything comes so easy to Hawke, but I can't just tell hi—

An arrow whizzes by my head, brushing against my hair before it embeds itself in the wall behind me. I pass Varric a withering glare as I yank the greatsword from its sheath on my back.

“Alright, maybe sometimes it’s an ambush,” he calls to me as he bashes an…Antivan Crow?!…that has gotten too close to him in the face.

“Will both of you shut up and help fight?!”

Hawke’s voice makes my guts clench, but it’s hard to tell if it’s anger or anxiety. Either way, I recognize he’s right when a Crow appears as if out of nowhere and tries to slide his dual daggers into my shoulders. I duck out of the way, but not before one of his daggers drag across the top of my arm slicing a long, deep cut. Growling, I heave the greatsword above my head and cleave him in two. I whirl around expecting to see everyone else in the midst of a raging battle, but much to my chagrin we’ve been surrounded. I glare at Varric again. He just shrugs at me.

Two dozen Crows are closing in on us and the one that seems to be their leader is walking toward Hawke. I can’t help but bristle as he approaches, my fingers opening and closing around the hilt of my sword. I take half a step forward, ready to end this no-name, whoever thinks he can threaten my—threaten Hawke. But Hawke holds his hand out in a placating gesture, bidding me to stop. I comply, grumbling all the while.

“And there is the Champion of Kirkwall. You die today.”

That’s it. I don’t care, Hawke can yell at me later. I’m going to charge this wretch and rip out his heart before he can lay a hand on—

A dagger goes spinning by my head and embeds itself in the leader Crow’s chest.

Hawke spins around to see who has disobeyed his order to stand down, to see who has saved him. “Who the blazes is that?” He can’t help but smile when he says it and my breath hitches for just a moment when I see the joy he’d been missing for the last several days. The joy I’d taken from him.

I manage to tear my eyes away from Hawke and follow his line of sight and find a petite elf woman standing on the rooftop above us holding another dagger at the ready. She doesn’t look like any of Hawke or Varric’s associates I’ve come to know. I raise an eyebrow at Varric questioningly.

“I don’t know! Kill people, then ask!” The dwarf grunts as he fumbles to get another bolt in his crossbow.

I run headlong into the band of Crows who seem just as dumbstruck as we are at our new addition to the party. I can feel my arm bleeding, but I try to ignore it as best as I can. Despite our few numbers, the battle is over quickly. It seems to all be because of the new elf; every time I managed to look up, she was killing another Crow. She is fast and efficient, that’s for sure.

We’re all coming back to the center of the square, breathing raggedly after dispatching the last of the assassins. Hawke notices my bloody arm and runs toward me.

“You’re hurt,” his voice is barely audible.

“I’m fine,” I growl and pull my arm away from him gruffly.

His face goes from soft and concerned to hard and annoyed between blinks. Inside I know I’ve fucked up, but I keep my jaw pushed forward stubbornly. I don’t need his pity or anyone to mother over me.

He turns away from me without another word and I can feel myself doubting what it is I truly need as he walks away.

“Sloppy,” the elf woman remarks, picking through the pockets of the Crow leader. “You think the Crows would be better at this…” She stands and turns her bright green eyes on Hawke with an easy grin, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Looking for me?” Hawke smiles back at her, that always easy smile. I squirm staring at the two.

“Well, I was looking for the man with an invitation to Chateau Haine,” she clarifies.

Varric slaps his hand against his forehead, “Oh! That’s what Edge was on about. Don’t you remember?”

Everyone is staring at him waiting for him to get to the point.

He sighs and grumbles under his breath, something about Dwarven memory. But he continues none-the-less, “Duke Prosper, the one who was drooling all over you at the Champion of Kirkwall Banquet.”

I fold my arms across my chest and look sullenly at my feet. Who could forget Duke Prosper and the banquet? That man spent all night pawing at Hawke, whispering in Hawke’s ear, at one point he even ran his tongue over the shell of his…I clear my throat and try to stop that line of thought before I trigger my markings. My point is, he spent all night trying to get Hawke to accompany him back to his vacation villa in Kirkwall for the evening; every time Hawke mentioned he was already attached, the Duke would look at me like I was scum. Worse than scum, a servant. It can safely be assumed I am not a fan of this Duke and would prefer to not have anything to do with him. I slowly drift back to what Varric is saying.

“He mentioned a hunt in the countryside.”

“I doubt I’d go such a thing.”

Oh, thank the Maker. I feel like I can breathe for the first time since before the fight started.

“I was hoping you’d reconsider.”

Venhedis. I’m really starting to hate this elf.

“Let me guess, this isn’t just a social call?” Hawke laughed and stared at the woman elf appraisingly.

“I need to relieve him of something he has no right to possess. And…I can’t do it alone.” The elf has circled Hawke, appraising him right back. But there’s something in her eyes that bothers me. There’s more to her consideration of Hawke than a business venture, an almost predatory gleam in her eyes and mischievous smirk on her lips. I can do nothing, but hope Hawke sees what I see and not agree to help her.

“You want my help to him him?”

Dammit, Hawke.

“Well, stealing from Orlesians is never wrong…or so I’ve been told.” Varric inspects his fingernails as if bored by the conversation, but I know he’s paying just as close attention as I am. He isn’t sure whether to trust this new elf either, but the prospect of a vacation to Orlais and ripping off a noble is too appealing for him to outright refuse.

“This wasn’t how I was planning to ask you this. I was picturing an introduction with less blood.”

I can’t stand this anymore. I try to keep my voice steady, all traces of venom and jealousy out of my words. “Who are you?” I fail.

“My apologies. My name is Tallis.” She inclines her head to me briefly before turning back to Hawke, her eyes twinkling again.

“What makes you think I steal things just because someone asks me to?”

Tallis doesn’t have time to answer, Varric barks a laugh. Hell, even I’m smiling at that. When Varric is finally able to stop laughing he starts ticking off the times Hawke has committed a crime simply because someone asked. He’s reached his fourth finger when Hawke shoots him a look that shuts him up.

“What? It’s not like I’m exaggerating. Much.” Almost shuts him up. Varric is right though.

“All I’ve heard is that you get things done. I’m hoping that’s true.” The way she says Hawke gets things done grates on my nerves, her voice thick with suggestion. I fight against the impulse to step closer to him.

Hawke spins his staff idly in his hand and grins at her, that dopey lovable grin that tends to win over everyone he meets. “I imagine if we did this, it would be together?”

My mouth gapes. It feels as if I’ve been punched and all the air has been knocked from my lungs. I don’t know if he’s truly flirting with her because he’s interested or because I shattered his heart eighteen hours ago. Hawke kneeling on his bed, a damp sheet loose across his lap, and a broken look across his face flashes in my mind and I close my eyes fervidly.

When I open them again, Tallis is standing even closer to Hawke. “That’s the idea. Or did you have something else in mind?”

“What did you have in mind?”

Varric looks at me apologetically and I turn away, bitter bile threatening to rise in my throat.

“So tell me, what exactly is it that you want to steal?”


	7. We Still Have Time

He shakes out his shaggy fur hoping it will rid him of the trapped and frantic feelings that always accompanied his transformation to a wolf, but he still felt the need to run until his canine body screamed and his muscles gave out. Better yet, he would just revert back to Solas, simple and unsuspecting apostate. But that would have to wait.

A rustle of bushes breaks the worried silence of the encampment he'd been watching. The sound perks his ears and he settles low to the ground, struggling not to grumble as his belly grows damp from the evening dew. The rustle grows louder and surprisingly tall, hooded figure emerges.

The hooded figure doesn't speak; instead he stands expectantly in front of the two mages. After a brief wait, the shorter mage launches into rapid Tevene. Solas’s Tevene is rusty, but he is still able to understand the majority of the conversation.

“—relic. We've been studying it for some time. It's obvious it has great power, somehow connected to the Fade.”

The taller mage broke in, his voice high pitched and nervous, “But it's useless! We don't know how to use it!”

Both mages back away from the hooded figure, attempting to shrink in size. Solas wishes he could see the man’s face. If even one aspect of his plan has faltered…

But then the hooded figure speaks, low and rumbling, full of power and pride. “Do not worry. We have time. And I know of these relics.” He extends a hand, sharp talons wrapping around the gently pulsing orb. “I know just what to do.”

Solas watches from his crouch as the dark figure spins and vanishes in a whirl of black smoke. He can't help but feel both exhilarated that his plan is in motion and horrified that his orb is no longer in his possession. If only Mythal had been there when he called…

No.

He growls quietly at the thought, rededicating himself to his plan. This is happening and it will fix what has been done. He takes one last look at the Venatori camp and then lopes away, running south until his body screams and his muscles give out. 


	8. Mi’nas’sal’inan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan deals with Solas’ sudden departure after the Victory Party  
> THEME: “I know you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title Translation: I miss you | “I feel the knife once more within my soul”  
> All elven translations are thanks to “Project Elven” by FenxShiral (AO3) It’s fantastic, look it up! :D

The sounds of celebration and drunken merriment had long died down when Ori descended from her quarters. Sleep had long eluded her. She sought after the scent of fresh parchment, lyrium, and linseed oil…his scent. Perhaps with his familiar aroma wrapped around her, she could finally drift away into the relative comfort of sleep. Slip into the Fade and find him.

Her stomach clenched at the thought of seeing him again, even if only in the Fade. After all, the reality of it was a subject worthy of hot debate. The old conversation played in her head, along with their first kiss, as her legs carried her to his rotunda. She only partially registered the few of companions who had partied too hard into the early morning, left draped over one another, bottles scattered among them. Sera was snoring softly underneath one of the dessert tables, while Dorian and Bull were tangled together, a small puddle of drool gathering where Dorian’s head rested against Bull’s broad chest that he would later vehemently deny. She continued toward the familiar room, covered in murals that told her story, when she saw Varric splayed across the floor near his fireplace, head resting on Cole’s lap. She was just about to step over him, needing to touch something Solas had touched, sit where he had sat, when Cole’s eyes popped open.

He didn’t say anything at first, but just looked at her appraisingly with his large grey eyes, his head cantered curiously to the side.

She closed her own and let her head fall to her chest, a long, sad sigh escaping her.

A quiet inhalation let her know that Cole was about to start speaking, and she steadied her heart, prepared for what was to come. “Bright and brilliant, he wanders the ways, walking unmaking, searching…”

He’s alone then. If he’d only just asked for her help—

Cole continued, their eyes locked on one another, “Pain pounding, pulsing, life of frustration can finally fall, fail. Begin again, anew, another world to erase what was done and what hasn’t been done.

Her brow crinkled and she opened her mouth, but had nothing to say. Whenever Cole began to alliterate, she tended to lose track of his true meaning.

Very quietly, Cole tried one more time, but this time the words were quite clearly not his own. “Ar lath ‘ma, vhen’an. Isalan na. Isalan dera na aron tuelan.”

Ori’s breath hitched and she struggled to bring in more air. She remembered the night Solas said those words to her, words that brought a warm, pink flush to her cheeks and had her bashfully brushing her hair from her eyes, just so she could hide behind her hand for moment to collect her thoughts. She vividly recalled how his eyes tracked her across the room as she laughed at him, not realizing he was serious. How she turned her back on him to look out over her balcony and how his arms wrapped around her from behind, his slender, muscular build setting her heartbeat thundering against her chest.

She startled when Cole’s hand thrust forward, shaking a crumpled handkerchief toward her. She’d begun to cry.

She took it, but didn’t bother dabbing at her eyes. She’d been crying off and on all night and had long since given up stemming the tide.

He blinked owlishly at her. “I am sorry. I just wish to help.”

“I know you do.” She wanted to reach out and hold his hand, more for her sake than for his own, but she knew he wasn’t one for physical affection. Instead, she offered him the most genuine smile she could muster and continued on her way to the rotunda, the smell of parchment, lyrium, and linseed oil enveloping her in a much needed hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven Translation: “I love you, you are my home. I need you.... and then he essentially tells her he’s going to make love her in such a way that is only deserving of a goddess X.X


	9. You Shouldn’t Be Here

Ori sat in his desk chair, her legs tucked up underneath her, and desperately tried to recall the last conversation they had in this room that wasn’t a fight. She remembered arguing about what happened at the glen in Crestwood, she remembered arguing about the Vir’abellasan, but before that her memory glazes over and she cannot recall anything with certainty. After another failed attempt, the tears came back and she rested her head against the chair’s thick padding, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent.

She was only vaguely aware that the door opened and closed again, the faint firelight casting across the floor before it is chased away. “Go away, Cole.” She tried to keep her tone even and gentle, but her crying jag has brought a hard edge to her usually lilting voice.

There’s an unsure shuffling of feet and then someone’s voice breaks the silence, “It’s…not Cole.”

Hmm, Cullen.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She doesn’t bother keeping her voice steady this time, the coming sob shortening her words.

She heard him swallow, his breaths shallow and nervous before he appeared on his knees in front of her. “What?” She glared at him.

“You haven’t slept.” It wasn’t a question. His hand reached out brushed an errant curl behind her ear.

She absently wondered if he’d been imbibing during the celebration to be so bold with his actions, but she was too tired to ask or even pull away from his touch. Instead she just stared at him, eyes sore and swollen from her tears.

“What are you doing in here?” He was no longer touching her face, but when he withdrew, he let his hands wrap around hers which were cold from the night air and lack of fire in the rotunda. She let them stay.

“I thought he might come back.”

He looked at her incredulously, as if he knew that wasn’t going to happen and she likely did, too.

“All of his books are here.” Ori argued weakly before a sudden sob wracked her body again.

“Would you like me to wait with you?”

Ori’s brow crinkled and she half smiled that Cullen didn’t argue with her, or try to convince her that Solas wasn’t returning. Instead, he just offered to wait with her.

When she nodded, Cullen gently tugged at her hands and pulled her from Solas’s desk chair toward the chaise lounge that was tucked in the corner. He sat down first and let her decide how close she wanted to sit to him.

She sat far enough away that their knees couldn’t touch, but that his hand was still comfortably clasped around hers.

After a few moments passed in such a fashion another vicious round of sobs were pulled from her at the mere thought that Solas would never finish the last section of his mural. As she cried she found herself collapsing against Cullen’s chest, thankful that for once in his life the man hadn’t donned his armor. His warm arms pulled her tighter to him and clutched at his shirt, already damp from her tears.

One arm loosened around her as he began to smooth back her hair. She noticed his breathing increased, to the point where she was just about to ask if he was okay when suddenly his voice broke through the air, his deep baritone reverberating against her ear as he sang an old Ferelden lullaby.

Upon finishing, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her tightly to him again, but Ori pushed against the hug and propped herself up enough to look into his golden eyes. A long silence passed between them, a small frown on her face. Before she could talk herself out of it, she found his lips with her own. Warm and indeed tasting of firewhiskey.

“Ori, Ori—” He pushed her shoulders, trying to get space enough between them.

She looked at him, a shattered shell of the champion she’d been hours previously. A solitary tear rolled down her still damp cheek. “Just make me feel something else.”

He sucked on his lower lip, a deliberative move that Ori had seen countless times in the war room. She took her opportunity to try again and placed a chaste kiss on his upper lip. “Please?” She begged, her eyes reflecting a deep and immeasurable pain.

Cullen cupped her face in his hand and nodded; that was all the okay Ori needed to make the pain stop. Anything to make the pain stop.

He was tentative at first, small kisses across her cheeks and mouth, but her fervor sparked his own. She tipped his head to deepen one of the kisses that grazed her lips and he was more than willing to reciprocate. A broken moan escaped him when she pushed against him, settling back down straddled across his lap.

For the first few minutes she had to fight against flashbulb memories of Solas’s smiles, laughs, kisses…but soon Cullen had garnered enough courage to let his hands wander, warm and firm against her body. His kisses traveled as well, moving from her face to her neck, her collarbone, the gentle swell of cleavage that her evening robes exposed. Heat had begun to spool low in her belly and her hips bucked against his almost as if of their own accord. The sound he made sent lightning boltsthrough her and she bucked against him by choice just to hear it again. His tongue found the curve of her pointed ears and she dug her fingers into his back in response.

“Cullen—,” the question was unspoken, but clear.

He pulled away and looked at her for a moment before answering. “Are you sure?”

She nodded emphatically as her fingers fell to his trousers and began to fumble with the knotted ties, kissing him all the while.

_You shouldn’t be here_ , she thought to herself.

But this felt so much better than crying.


	10. You Think This Bothers Me?

Skyhold was more open than Haven, allowed her to breathe. It wasn’t tiny cottages stacked one on top of the other, all leading to a towering Chantry that represented everything she’d been taught to run from her entire life. But Skyhold still wasn’t the Plains, it wasn’t the forest, it wasn’t the rushing river where she’d have to weigh down her clothes with rocks while she bathed for fear they’d be dragged off by the whipping winds. She missed the wide openness of nature, especially after long lectures on diplomacy with Josephine. She meant well, but if they could only have their lessons out here, on the ramparts instead of cramped in Josephine’s small study with short ceilings and a too hot fire that choked her lungs.

Elysia hugged her arms to stomach, the cold wind biting through her thin tunic. Deshanna would be ashamed at the type of clothing they had her wearing nowadays, but she had to be presented as regal when in the hold, not practical. She sighed deeply and stared out over the rolling hills below her, wondering how far away the closest Dalish clan roamed. They’d likely keep a wide berth, not trusting the Shem army that had invaded the elven fortress. Elgar’nan, they probably thought her a traitor for leading them here, for doing it in the name of Andraste.

She leaned heavily against the wall, forgoing any attempt to hold warmth into her body. A day would come when the Dalish and the humans would break bread together. She would see to that. If she could lov— if she could lead an entire human army, an inner circle of humans, elves, and dwarves all treated as one, there was no one reason why she couldn’t get her clan to accept him—them—humans.

Her eyes flitted to Cullen’s window. She’d rather hoped he’d found his way to bed by now, it was long past sundown and the moon had risen high into the sky, but candlelight still flickered in the lower level of his tower. He had missed the most recent War Meeting…and dinner…she wouldn’t be doing her duty as Inquisitor if she didn’t at least check on him.

It was a short walk to his door, but by the time she reached it she had a not of anxiety heavy in her gut. She paced back and forth, fingers twisting together, as she practiced her opening her lines to him. She had almost settled on which greeting to use when she heard a great crash from inside his tower and a muffled cry. Without a second thought, she wrenched the door open and found Cullen on his hands and knees, struggling to right himself.

“Inquisitor!” She could hear his surprise, but more concerning was the sheer weakness of his voice.

She knelt beside him, ready to help hoist him into his desk chair, but kneeling so close to him allowed for closer inspection and she was frightened by what she found. He was sweating profusely, his perfectly coifed hair hung limply across his forehead, the color had drained from his face leaving a sickly pallor where a crimson blush usually resided. “Cullen, what did this to you? Are you okay? I’ll get the healer!” She pushed up from the floor, but found herself pulled back down by Cullen’s surprising strength.

“No! No healer,” he rasped. “They cannot help me. Besides, I…am fine.” His breathing was labored, a painful wheeze audible between his words, and it was obvious to Elysia that Cullen was far from fine. When he reached for the desk and pulled, trying to stand again, his legs collapsed from underneath him. He crashed back onto the floor, pulling Elysia with him.

Elysia gently untangled her legs from Cullen, but did not stand. Instead, she kneeled next to him, and pulled his head into her lap. “Creators, Cullen. Talk to me.” Slowly, she carded her fingers through his hair, wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I never…meant for you…to see me…like this.”

Elysia could not tell if the breaks in his words were from his wheezing or the soft sobs that had begun to shake his body.

“You think this troubles me? Do you think I will think you weak?” She said, soft and calming, but with enough conviction that Cullen knew her to be truthful. “Cullen, I can handle sickness. I can handle many things people seek to protect me from. What I cannot handle, is to see you in needless pain.” She paused for a beat before continuing. “Will you allow me to help?…With my magic?”

Another sob wracked his body, but after a moment she felt his nod against her thigh. She called healing magic to both hands, a soft blue light filled the room. It was only a few moments after her hands touched his back, that he began to relax. She could sense a dark knot that her healing magic could not untangle, but she was able to ease the pain and sickness around the darkness. When she was done, she resumed stroking his hair and simply waited for him to speak.

“Forgive me.”

She couldn’t help but to laugh, soft and quiet, but a laugh none the less. “Cullen! Whatever for?”

“This was never your burden to share.”

Elysia tucked a curl behind his ear, tracing the shape of his ear as she did so. “Any burden of yours is my burden to share, Cullen. You need only to let me.”


	11. But I Will Never Forget

I know how she saw me. I was her biggest confidant, her anchor in a storm of nobles and demons, her fenor. But all of that changed. It aches when I recall the venom in her eyes at our last goodbye, how she swore to me the next time she saw me she’d kill me. How she accused me of being everything the Dalish say I am. The thing about accusations…the truer they are, the more they tend to hurt. The Dalish say I am a Trickster, a Liar, a god of Deceit and Deception. I say everything I do, every lie I tell…it’s all for the greater good. But Lavellan? Everything I did for her…everything I did to her…that was self-serving pride. I thought I could have everything and not lose my way. I thought I could maintain my sense of self, my identity as Solas,and still be able to commit the blood acts that must be brought to fruition for the elvhen to rise again. It was a mistake that she has paid for many times over. I took her heritage, her gods, I even took her ability to be accepted back into her clan. But worse than all of that, I betrayed her. I swore my love to her, my loyalty, my companionship. And all along I knew what we were fighting. I knew she’d be fighting me, in the end.

She thought it was all a trick, all a lie. That my relationship with her was a means to an end, a way to stay close to the powers of the Inquisition. But she didn’t know that I will never forget…

I will never forget the way she smelled of verbena and elfroot, even after three weeks on the road.

I will never forget the way she’d hum a silly Dalish lullaby whenever she was trying to focus.

I will never forget the way no matter how hard she tried or what oils Josephine brought her, there was always one errant curl by her right ear.

I will never forget the way my heart swelled with pride when she volunteered to stay behind to fight for Haven or the way my gut clenched in fear when she didn’t arrive at the rendezvous shortly after.

I will never forget the fear her eyes when she kissed me, thinking I didn’t feel the same for her or the fervor with which I kissed her back, so she’d never doubt me again.

I will never forget the rage and pain she felt for Wisdom, a spirit she didn’t even know; a reflection of her kind and empathetic soul that have yet to see matched by anyone in all the millennia I’ve lived.

I will never forget the way she’d laugh when she was upstairs in library, poking fun at Dorian; lighthearted, fun loving, but still always kind.

I will never forget her sour mood every time she had been woken up too early after falling asleep too late, begging for just five more minutes of sleep.

I will never forget how she snuck into my tent at camp, under the pretense of needing her staff’s crystal reattached. I had barely asked to see the crystal when her lips found my own.

I will never forget that ridiculous barn cat that hated everyone—Lavellan included—but she wouldn’t leave it to the Red Templars. She carried it back to Skyhold, collecting scratch after scratch and a couple bites, just to make sure it was safe, warm, and well fed.

I will never forget the warmth I felt when I held her in my arms, swaying her in the gentle dance of a Dalish marriage ceremony at the Winter Palace. Her mouth pressed against my ear as she whispered how she wished we could dance this dance for her clan one day. I told her we could. I believed it, too.

I will never orget the way her breath hitched when I told her I loved her, lips swollen and hands aching to touch more of her.

And I will never forget the way her eyes glazed over as my magic struck her in the chest, my name to be the last word on her lips, as her legs give way and she falls to the cold earth.

Oh, ma Vhenan. I will never forget.


	12. Who Could Do This?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MULTIPLE UPDATES because I’ve been sick and I’m behind :( Sorry! I posted three ficlets tonight, so feel free to take a look at all three. :)

Oriana was powdered and glittering, draped in silks and chiffons; tucked neatly into the backseat of a velvet lined carriage. It didn't feel right, trussed up like she was, parading through the Halamshiral alienage. Under normal circumstances she would’ve found this display of wealth vulgar and ill-advised, but the smell of smoke still hung in the air, every third building lay in cinders.

A small gasp escaped her when she saw the Vhenadahl cut to a stump, the dying leaves of the felled tree stretched across the alienage square as if imploring her to help. She hadn’t even noticed the tears cutting lines through her perfectly painted makeup until Solas leaned forward and gently brushed them away with his thumb.

“Who could do this?” Her chest ached and her voice warbled, but she held his gaze none the less.

“I am so sorry, vhenan.” He held her chilled hands in his, called a gentle warming spell between them until her skin pinked. “Celene will say she had no choice in the matter.”

She turned from him and her eyes hardened as she thought of the cruelty the Emperoress had inflicted on the unsuspecting elves of Orlais. “Why?”

“She will say it was to quash a rising resistance, a dangerous rebellion, but the truth of the matter is much simpler. She wanted to snuff out the true rumors that told her elven paramour.”

Ori’s shocked eyes met with Solas’s, still and unaffected. “She slaughtered them to stop rumors of her bedmate?”

Solas nodded and watched as a multitude of thoughts worked their way through Ori’s mind. Finally she broke the silence between them. “Maybe we should let her die.”

He squeezed the hand he still held, knowing no advice would change her mind. She’d make the right decision in the end. Celene would indeed be dead by night’s end.


	13. Try Harder Next Time

He straightened his robes for the fourth time and inspected himself in the mirror. A blemish, today of all days. He leaned in close to the reflection and stared hard at the minuscule bump that appeared monstrous to him, marring his otherwise perfect complexion. Maybe there’s a spell, a small one…it wouldn’t take up too much mana to cast it away.

Four short raps at the door interrupted his thoughts. Ah, Mother. Probably for the better, anyhow. He’d need every ounce of his magic today.

He took a deep breath, brushed the wrinkles out of his robes again, and opened the door in a large sweeping motion. His head was bowed, but he could tell by her relaxed posture and easy entrance that Father wasn’t with her, not yet.

“Dorian, darling.” She knelt in front of him and wrapped him in a warm hug. Notes of citrus and sandalwood clung to her clothes and hair and he buried his face into her shoulder, breathing deeply. After a moment she gently pried herself from his embrace. “Dorian, don’t be scared.”

His gut clenched uncomfortably at the mere allusion to the day’s events. “I just want to make him proud.”

His mother’s expression softened as she reached up to wipe the tear that had escaped the corner of his eye, despite his stubborn attempts to stifle any emotion. “He is proud of you, Darling. He just…” She stopped and chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, caressing his face all the while. “Your father has a hard time expressing himself, but I promise he’s proud of you.”

Dorian nodded and and inhaled the sweet smell of his mother as she stood and then leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

He followed after her, paying no attention to the familiar twists and turns of the halls. Instead, he ticked off every spell he was to showcase for the Magisters Father was hosting for the weekend. He was told it wouldn’t affect his time at the Circle or his future endeavors, but Dorian couldn’t help but think that wasn’t so.

As he approached the open courtyard he saw the seven men in rich colored velvets and silks, a dark wine being poured into their glasses by…Eldra…Elsa…Ella…something. He nodded at her as he passed and tried not to smile when her ears turned crimson from tip to lobe.

“Dorian,” his father’s voice rumbled.

“Father, Magister Alexius…” he continued to name the rest of the Magisters and bowed deeply when he was done.

His father nodded almost imperceptibly, a sign he was to begin at his ready.

Dorian gathered his mana, pulling as much energy from the Fade as his young body could handle. If his father wanted him to wow the Magisters, wow them he would. Any twelve year old could rattle off a handful of beginner spells, but only a Pavus would even attempt to conjure a spirit, mirroring its existence in the Fade for those in the real world to see. It was a simple incantation, but required strength of will and character.

A shimmer had begun to grow in front of him and he saw the Magisters’ interest grow in equal measure. He could feel sweat gathering under the heavy fabric of his robe, dripping down his back and leaving a chill in its wake, but he soldiered on. He would suffer through this and more for his family, for his father.

A shining green orb had begun to pulse, expanding ever so slowly as he focused on mirroring what lay in the Fade of the courtyard. Once the mirror was established, he would call upon a spirit and converse with it, showing the Magisters that he was, indeed, the most cunning.

The Magisters had begun to talk excitedly amongst themselves and a proud, Chesire cat grin spread across his father’s face. He..could..He could do this. He just needed…A great dizziness washed over him as he scraped the bottom of his mana stores. He struggled against the feeling, the green orb minutely shrinking. The Magisters’ talk turned from excited to concerned, almost gossip mongering, and Dorian was ashamed when he heard himself cry out in pain, falling to his knees, his mana depleted.

With a loud popping sound the green orb folded in on itself, closing the mirror to the Fade and any hope of impressing his father and the Magisters with it.

Dorian’s breath came in heaving sobs, his chest pained with every expansion. When he finally gathered the strength—both physically and mentally—to search for his father, he saw the retreating backs of the Magister’s and his father’s hard, cold glare.

“Try harder next time.”

Dorian’s arms gave out and he could feel the angry footsteps of his father receding, the cool stone reverberating against his sweat-laden forehead.

A door slammed and he tried not to imagine what excuses his father was making for him behind closed doors when a warm hand drew circles on his back.

Citrus and sandalwood.

“I’m so sorry, Mother.”

“Oh, Dorian.”


	14. Some People Call This Wisdom

He warned me when we first met, told me that he was dangerous and would hurt me in the end. But there was something in his eyes. A purity of soul, a yearning for companionship.

Then he called me sweetheart.

He did so much to keep us safe. He networked with the Mage Underground, ensuring there was always an escape route should my money and status not being shield enough. He stood at my back every night when inevitably someone would come for us. He tended to any wound I had suffered as if it were life threatening, a care I hadn’t seen since I were a babe on my mother’s knee.

Now that most of Kirkwall has been freed from the bandits and mercenaries, we spend our evenings working on his Mage Rights Manifesto. He’ll let his hair down, running his fingers through it as he stresses over which words to use to best make our case. He’ll read a new passage to me and I feel my heart flutter as I see the passion light up within him. I lean over him to correct his phrasing and he lets his fingers rest on mine. And I can’t help but think he’s done it on purpose, our eyes locked on one another, breath hitching in my chest.

His eyes flicker to my lips and…

Oh, Maker.

My mother used to tell me how important the difference was between knowledge and wisdom. She’d say that knowledge was about learning something everyday, but wisdom was about letting go of something everyday.

I know a lot about Anders. I know so much, in fact, that I’m certain I should let him go. Nothing good can come of this, but…

I’m sorry, Momma, I never was very wise.

 

 


	15. I Thought You Had Forgotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still getting over being sick, but I’m catching up 3 a day, so I should be all nice and caught up tomorrow. Don’t forget to check the other two chapters I posted today! :)

Dusk was falling and Hawke had never been more thankful to see the mishappen silhouette of the Hanged Man’s broken sign. She'd been traipsing all over the Free Marches tracking the movements of a rogue band of blood mages since late last night. It was supposed to be a simple information gathering mission—one she insisted on handling alone. Of course that was before she accidentally triggered a well hidden ward, alerting the lot of them to her presence. The battle had been hard won and she was certain she'd get an earful from Anders while he patched up the monstrous gash across her abdomen. She could hear him now, his first instinct to rush to her aid with thanks to the Maker for keeping her safe, but then he'd turn irritable and sardonic, pleading with her to send someone expendable next time, ‘Fenris, perhaps.’ She'd chastise him only to be winked at as he began to flood her with healing magic.

She ached all over. She ached for Anders soft touch, she ached for a cool ale, and she ached for a warm bed. She'd head home straightaway if she didn't think Varric would send the Guard out to find her.

She leaned heavily against the Hanged Man’s door, not strong enough to lift her arm and push it open. The usually raucous room was nearly silent, with only the sound of Corff occasionally shelving mugs.

She looked toward Varric’s usual table and spied a lopsided cake surrounded by fresh pints of ale. She made a step toward it,it the pain in her side overwhelmed her and she crashed to floor, pulling a wooden chair along with her.

“Maker, no!”

Hawke barely registered Anders’ voice followed by what sounded like a stampede of footfalls.

Warm, familiar hands disentangled her from the chair she'd used to try to steady herself and then a flood of magic pulsed through her body with an uncomfortable heat. But as the heat abated, so did the worst of the pain. When she was able to open her eyes she saw Anders…wearing a party hat.

All her friends, who floated around behind Anders were also wearing party hats.

It took her pain addled brain a moment to process. “I thought you had forgotten.” She reached out to cup Anders’ face, but her arm was still too weak.He gripped her hand tightly, shifting so that her head could rest gently in the dip of his lap.

He opened his mouth, seemingly to ask a question, but nothing came. Instead, he just stared at Hawke and smiled softly.

“I think what Blondie means to say is…Merrill, you were supposed to keep Hawke away from the Hanged Man today. What happened?”

The elf’s eyes went big as saucers as she realized what must have happened.“Oh, I'm sorry, Hawke!” Merrill said, her fingers flying to her mouth to cover a small squeal. “I was certain they wouldn't be there.”

“Who?” Anders And Fenris ground out with equal fervor.

But Hawke mustered all her strength and shook her head. She would not have her birthday turn into a bloodbath between friends. Besides, they should've known better than to send Merrill to distract her all on her own.“A tale for another day.” Her voice was hoarse, but the dizziness was finally abating. She squeezed Anders’ hand to cut off the argument she saw on the edge of his lips. “Bring me my cake.”


	16. This is Going To Be So Much Fun

Fenris was standing at the carriage, shuffling their luggage around in an attempt to get everything to fit when he smelled it. The light scent of Castile and citrus. Hawke. He fought against the overwhelming desire to steal a glance at the mage who had stopped at the front of the carriage, mere feet away, to speak with Varric in hushed tones. But the whispers quickly became agitated, just shy of angry, and Fenris couldn’t help but peak.

Mistake.

Hawke was staring right at him, even as he spoke with Varric. In fact, Fenris had the intractable feeling that he was their topic of conversation. It was all but confirmed when Varric turned to catch a quick glimpse of Fenris over his shoulder.

That’s it.

He bit back a growl and stalked toward them, abandoning his task with the luggage. “Something to say?”

Hawke stared, ice blue eyes burning holes through Fenris.

“I'm taking a second carriage.”

Fenris’s mouth drew into a thin line.

“With Tallis.”

The careful restraint Fenris had been cultivating snapped. “Is your need to prove you've moved on so great?” His markings flared in time with his heaving breaths. “I'm sure this stranger will be more than happy to warm your bed and stroke your—” he swallowed, “—ego, but is it worth the money and hassle of two carriages?”

Hawke's icy stare remained unchanged during Fenris’s tirade. “I'm riding with Tallis to go over our plans for Chateau Haine. The second carriage is necessary because Anders is coming.”

Fenris opened his mouth to object, but Hawke kept talking. “And he'll be riding with you and Varric. But it's good to know Tallis and I have your blessing, if it should come to that.” Hawke turned on his heel and stalked away.

Fenris picked up the luggage Hawke left behind and hurledit into the back of the carriage unceremoniously. “Venhedis.”

“What did I tell you, Elf?” Varric’s eyes twinkled and his tone mocking, but softer than usual and Fenris hated him for his pity. “More flies with honey than vinegar.”

“I know a poultice that uses both honey and vinegar.” Anders appeared behind them, thankfully only carting a small bag of medical supplies. “Funny thing is, it seemed to work more as a fly magnet than anything else. Damn herbalist swore it would…well, never mind.” The mage chuckled, a blush coloring his cheeks.

Fenris growled and clambered into the carriage, the door slamming behind him.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Varric rocked back and forth and his heals and sighed, staring up into the sky. “Andraste’s tits, give me strength.”


	17. I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it

Ellaria could hear the birds singing, could feel the wind blowing, could smell the wet hay from Dennet’s barn. So, she was outside. She wanted to open her eyes, but her whole body ached. From the tip of her head to the tip of her toes. And that included her eye lids. They felt like leaden shutters that wouldn’t be moved even for the sake of the Maker. So she did the only thing she thought she was capable of doing, she moaned. And even that hurt.

“Oh, so you are alive.”

She could hear the broad smile in Varric’s voice and she hated him for it. The pounding in her head tripled at the sound and she would give him anything he wanted to not talk again.

She felt the coolness of a shadow blocking the mid morning sun fall across her face. “Cassandra is looking for you.” He poked her stomach with a finger and her whole body revolted. She found herself catapulted up on her side and heaving the minimal contents of her stomach onto the…

She squinted at the light.

Oh, void. She’d gotten sick all over the roof of the kitchens…

She peered out over Skyhold through the smallest slit of her eyelids, still angry at what little sunlight was accosting her.

“What happened?” Her voice was raspy and her throat burned, an ache that echoed throughout the rest of her body and soul.

Varric laughed and rocked back on his heels. “Oh, I’ll tell you. But you aren’t going to like it.”


	18. You Should’ve Seen It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being seriously a month late— I’ve been doing a major overhaul on Unharrowed, which is now resuming regular updates. More one shots to come!

“Then she started campaigning for ‘Commander Inquisitor.’ Cullen had to tackle her before she tried to make her acceptance speech wearing that rather unfortunate furry monstrosity of his…and nothing else,” Dorian smirked into his wine goblet.

Sera howled with laughter as she slammed her palms onto the tavern’s table, but new she could show up his story. “That’s nothing. You should’ve seen it, she challenged Varric to a pissing contest! She wanted to see who could pee in a bucket on the ground while standing on Vivienne’s balcony!” Sera continued banging on the table and snorting, ignoring Dorian’s dirty look as he tried to guard his drink from sloshing.

“I didn’t accept the challenge,” Varric said by way of loud introduction, sparing Ellaria a sympathetic smile as he pulled out a chair for her.

“Ah, the woman of the hour!” Blackwall rumbled and then laughed.

“Creators, it couldn’t have been that bad, could it?” She felt sick but wasn’t certain if it was from hearing of the previous night’s antics or the amount of alcohol still swimming in her stomach.

Bull approached the table looking surlier than usual. Ellaria squinted against the candlelight behind him when he placed a water goblet in front of her. “Bull?” There was a rather sizable burn mark, black and sooty across his left cheek and temple, spreading to his horn.

“Drink,” Bull instructed curtly and he turned to resume his place next to Dorian, who patted him gently on arm.

“Ellaria…,” Varric started quietly, “Last night you decided to try a new trick…”

She gasped, already putting it together.

“Oh, no. Bull, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

“I don’t like magic.”

Ellaria sunk her head into her hands and moaned, “I’m never drinking again.”

“What even happened last night—why’d you start drinking?” Blackwall asked.

Ellaria sighed and looked up, searching out Dorian among her friends. He was the last thing she remembered. The last conversation she remembered having. Their eyes locked and his expression softened.

He answered for her, “What is drinking like that ever about?” Then he stood and extended his arm out to her, “Come, Darling. We have other messes to clean up today.”


	19. Like This is the Worst I’ve Done

Oriana’s eyes bloom with fear, the black of her pupil swallowing forest green. She watches as he staggers backward, blood spilling between the fingers he has clamped tightly over the wound. She makes one step toward Solas, certain he doesn't have enough mana left to heal it himself, when another venatori mage blocks her path.

His arms have multiple slices where he has already begun to plough the depths of his blood magic. He sneers to reveal yellowed and crooked teeth, a small chortle escapes him. Ori doesn't have time for any of the venatori’s usual mind games. Her eyes flicker to Solas who has dragged himself to a crumbling retaining wall, to her great relief there is a faint blue glow between his hands and his wound, but the light soon begins to warble and his eyes close.

“Move or die.” She'd rather let one blood mage live and have time to save Solas than have to fight and lose him.

The venatori laughs louder. “I think I'd rather watch you watch him die.”

Her gut clenches in equal parts fear and rage. Ori is a calm, patient elf. Although she is careful not to be too proud, Ori is supremely aware of her superior negotiating skills and has used them on multiple occasions such as this. Ori’s calm demeanor is in large part due to Deshanna, who made sure she was raised to look for non-confrontational means to whatever ends she should seek.

Elgar’nan take calm.

Her fingers grip the rough hewn wood of her staff, knuckles turning white. Without taking a single step she sweeps the staff blade up the length of the venatori agent, slicing him from stem to sternum. She was already halfway to Solas by the time she heard the venatori’s body drop to the sandy ground with a dull thud.

When she touches his stomach wound, careful to heal as quickly as possible without the adverse side effects of the influx of strange mana, Solas’s eyes fly open.

“Oriana…” His hand jerkily makes its way to her cheek, leaving a streak of blood where his thumb caresses her.

“Shhh, none of that.” She chides his hopeless smile.

His color slowly improves and he’s able to focus his eyesight far enough away to see the carnage she’d left in her wake, the quick and vicious strike of her blade to get to his side.

“Oriana…” his tone significantly darker and tinged with concern.

She stares at his violet eyes for a moment before answering, praying her thanks to the entire Elven pantheon for sparing the life of one apostate. Her forehead presses against his and relief floods her when she finds it warm, but not feverish. “Oh, please. Like this is the worst I’ve done.”

She makes a joke out of it because she knows he is uncomfortable to be the cause of such bloodshed—to be the cause of her despoiled virtue, now that she has killed for him. But if she were honest with him—or with herself—the streets would run red before she would even consider giving up on him.


	20. I Hope You Have a Speech Prepared

There was a knock at Em’ri Amell’s door and the caramel colored tabby startled awake, the animal glaring at Em’ri as she pushed it to off her lap and onto the floor. It was too late for visitors. She eyed the inconspicuous walking stick by the door and took a steadying breath before opening the threshold.

“Warden Commander,” Cullen greeted het stiffly.

Her eyes traveled from his worn face to his wringing hands that were absently crumpling a small envelope. She stuttered before gesturing behind her, “Please, come in.”

He took just enough steps to clear the door. Em’ri crossed the room and steadied herself against a heavy, wooden table. Still irritated, the tabby’s tail swished in the corner. When Cullen didn’t speak, she said, “I assume this isn’t an off-hour social call.”

His ears pinked. “No. No social call.” He began to pace. “You better sit down, Em. It’s going to be a long night.”

She grabbed a bottle of what her conscripts called Rotwine. She’d taken quite a liking to a case of old unmarked dark blue bottles she’d found in a box marked ANRAS. She offered a glass to Cullen, but when he waved her away she put both the glass and the bottle back on the table with a somewhat wistful glint in her eye. She settled in her arm chair once again and the tabby was quick to resume his post on her lap. However, instead of sleeping, he kept watchful eyes on Cullen sitting on a dining chair a few feet across the room.

“Well?” Em’ri prompted. A sick feeling had permeated her entire being the moment he rapped on her door, but she wouldn’t let him know that. Wouldn’t let him sense any weakness.

“Has news from Kirkwall made it this far south, yet?” He rubbed at his temples, not meeting her eyes.

The hollow tone of his voice struck her to the core and she knew why he was here. Her heart dropped and she clutched at her stomach until her racing pulse steadied. She hoped he hadn’t noticed, but his wandering eyes made her doubt her charade of indifference.

“I know,” her voice cracked before evening out, “there was a battle of some kind. A fire, too.” She hardened her resolve and her her words came out like jagged glass. “Forgive me, we’ve had some problems of our own. The nobles haven’t taken too kindly to the Wardens resurfacing here. I haven’t really kept up with interstate politics. Why?” Inside she screamed at him to not answer, to get up and go back to Kirkwall. If he didn’t tell her, it couldn’t be true. Their eyes met and her thoughts immediately silenced. Cullen had looked tired since the day she’d met him—her crying, him guiding her away from her family and across Lake Calenhad. There was something different about him now, more to the darkness beneath his eyes, haunted.

“When did you last speak to Anders? I know you two were—” his voice caught “—close.”

Her brow furrowed into a deep frown as she fought against the sting in her eyes. “He’d sent me a few letters every couple weeks or so since he left. They stopped after his last visit, about three months ago.” Her eyes widened and her stomach hollowed out beneath her. Words poured out of her, “They were never postmarked. I assumed he was moving again.” When Cullen didn’t answer, she finally gathered the nerve to ask, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Cullen’s eyes fell to the floor, his fingers wresting the wrinkled letter in his hands.

“Cullen!”

He flinched at her desperate cry.

She didn’t understand why he was handing her his kerchief until the tabby meowed a loud complaint at the uncomfortable drops of moisture landing on his back.

Cullen nodded. “Yesterday morning. At dawn.”

At dawn. What was she doing at dawn? Laundry? She’d been folding laundry when Anders been facing the scariest moments in his life, alone. How could she not have known? How could she not have felt something? Isn’t that what everyone says? That when your soulmate dies, you feel it? She hadn’t felt anything!

“What in the Void happened?” She tried to keep her voice level, but failed miserably. The only minute comfort came from the warmth of the tabby’s fur running through her fingers and his purr reverberating against her belly.

“I think…I think he did what he thought was right. But countless people lost their lives because of his perspective and the actions he took. His last wish was that he be allowed to send you a letter.”

She reached for it, half expecting him to pull away, but he gave it to her without any hesitation.

Cullen stood and headed toward the door. “Em’ri…”

She’d already broken the seal, eager to read her beloved’s last words.

“Please know that if I’d known…I didn’t mean for it to…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Once the door was shut behind him and she couldn’t hear his footsteps retreating any more, she finished opening the envelope and began to read.

 

_My Treasured Em -_

_I know you’re mad. I broke my promise to you. It looks like we’ll never get to take down the Circles together, to change the way the world sees us. The way the world sees our daughter._

 

She clutched at her stomach. Her fingers played over the barely perceptible bump.

 

_We can only hope that what I’ve done sets in motion a rolling stone that cannot be stopped, only hope that she will not grow up fearing what lurks ‘round every corner the way we did. My greatest hope is that she grows up in a world I only dreamed about. I believe that can still happen._

_But even if it doesn’t, I leave this prejudiced world with one great comfort. She has something neither one of us did: two parents who adore her just the way she is and a mother who will raise her to be strong and proud._

 

Tears continued to make silent tracks down her cheeks.

 

_I cherish you both more than either one of you will ever know. You are my world. My reason for living. My reason for fighting. I love you._

 

Her shoulders shook as his words pulled harsh sobs from her chest.

 

_I know it will be painful for you, but tell her about me. I don’t want her thinking I left you both behind by choice._

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_\- Andy_

_PS. Don’t be mad at Hawke. He did his best._

_PPS. Give Pounce a hug for me, eh?_

 

She folded the letter and pressed it to her lips. She closed her eyes and let the scent of the paper—Anders scent—fill her. She was certain it was her imagination, but the sensation was so strong, she found comfort in it just the same. Her tears came with renewed strength when she realized that soon everything that carried his scent in her small home would no longer smell like lyrium, blood orange, and sage leaves.

She lifted Ser-Pounce-a-Lot gently from her lap and cradled him against her chest as she staggered into their bedroom which seemed much emptier than it had the night before. Pounce pushed off her and stretched out in a languid pile on the bed. It only took Em’ri a moment to find a shirt Anders had left behind, change into it, and slide into bed beside the tabby.

She read the letter two more times and had begun to read it for a third when soft fur rubbed against her knuckles. She continued to read until Pounce pushed his cheek hard enough into her hand to rattle the paper, his purring unusually loud. She folded the letter along the delicate creases and tucked it into the drawer in her bedside table. Before she’d even fully reclined again, Pounce had climbed into the crook of her arm with graceful assurance and was kneading against her chest, occasionally bumping his pink nose into her chin.

She took one last stuttering breath as the tears finally waned, the weight of the cat against her ribs grounding her. She traced slow circles around the small bump made larger through her teary vision. “Hope.” A fragile smile wavered on her tearstained face. “What do you think?” She asked Pounce, who pushed his soft face into her belly before curling around her protectively. “I think so, too. ‘Hope’ it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is in regards to something I imagine the guard saying to Anders during the whole affair. :(


	21. Impressive, Truly

Rym smoothed out her tunic, the rough fabric catching on her callouses from over use of her staff these last few weeks. She sucked the sting out of her thumb and frowned at her reflection in the dingy mirror. Why she bothered trying to look presentable at the War Councils, she’d never know. He'd seen her at her worst—weak, smeared with blood and ichor, short tempered from getting bested by a Templar. No matter how prim and proper she presented herself now, there'd be no erasing his memory of picking a glob of Ash Wraith from her hair hours after the fight had ended. Or her shrill cries as he called upon the Fade to knit her pelvic bone back together after she'd been taken unawares by the Avvar prince’s hammer. Or the time her delicate sensitivity kept them camped for an extra two days because she couldn't handle the Spindleweed in their stew. Or the time—well, the point is he'd made up his mind about her. Solas would never see her as anything other than a weak body attached to this wholly powerful Mark. She glared at herself as she pinched color into her cheeks and bolted for the Chantry before she could change clothes for the third time.

Angry voices floated out the open Chantry door and got lost as the wind drove them into the snow. Already angry and she wasn't even there yet. That was promising. By the time she reached the door, she could make out the argument.

“…give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!” Cullen was speaking slowly, but the underlying growl betrayed his attitude.

“You weren't there, Commander.”

Rym’s stomach fluttered and she fought to keep her face neutral as she entered the War Room and listened to Solas’ steady, dulcet tones.

“These mages cannot be left at the mercy of Gereon Alexius. If not for their own well-being, then to at least deprive Tevinter of a Circle trained army.”

She studied him carefully, surprised at the implied praise of Circle education; then she saw the slight tremor of his upper lip, his hands clenched painfully around his staff. Rym smiled, she couldn't help it. Solas had proven himself strong and brilliant before, but in one simple sentence he showed a cleverness that left Cullen red faced and huffing.

“I suppose you are right.” Cullen’s features hardened as he stared at the map laid out between them. “Do you have any suggestions, then?”

Josephine who had been scratching wildly at her clipboard throughout cleared her throat softly. “Alexius did ask for the Herald by name.”

“That doesn't scream ‘Hey, look, I'm a trap,’ to anyone else?” Iron Bull scratched at his broken horn and gave Rym a sympathetic smile.

She grinned back trying to put everyone at ease. “How nice of him! I haven't been invited to a good trap in ages!” Iron Bull And Varric laughed openly, but it was the subtle tug at Solas’ mouth that had her blushing.

“Yes, well, unfortunately the invitation didn't carry a plus-one and Redcliffe is one of the most defensible fortresses in all of Ferelden.” He looked at his feet and thumbed at the hilt of his sword. “If you go in there, you will die.”

Her stomach clenched, but Cullen wasn't done talking.

“And we will lose the only means we have of closing the rifts. I won't allow it.”

Rym’s faint blush darkened as a quiet rage bubbled up from her chest, digesting what the Commander had said. Varric hoisted himself from his stool and silently stood by her side. The few seconds of silence dragged between them, tension made obvious by Cullen scratching at the back of his neck and still gazing at his feet.

“It's good to know what I mean to you all.” Her voice cracked and she cursed her weakness again.

She felt Varric lean into her shoulder slightly, but it was Cullen who spoke. “I apologize, Herald. That was crass.” He smiled briefly at her and the room seemed to relax a margin. “But you're too important to risk.”

Leliana butted in, reigniting the argument. “But if we don't even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.”

“Using the Inquisition’s forces to enter the castle, whether we're successful or not, could very well provoke a war with Ferelden. Our hands our tied.” Josephine dotted her papers with enough force to rip the vellum.

Cassandra threw up her hands. “But the magister—”

“Has outplayed us, Seeker.”

Rym looked to her companions for help. Varric still offered his silent support, Bull leaned against the far wall watching intently, but not speaking, and Solas had distanced himself from the argument, standing behind her with his arms crossed over his chest, staff now cast aside. She sighed and rested her hands on the table, head hung between her arms. “It's not over yet. I won't let it be over.” Weak though she may be, no one could say she wasn't stubborn. “What about the Arl?”

Cullen rubbed at his temples and shook his head. “He's made his way to Denerim, likely to seek help from his nephew, the King. I don't think he'd appreciate us laying siege to his castle in his absence.”

“What if we didn't have to lay siege?” Ryms usual lilt had her own growl and Cullen looked up in surprise.

“Of course!”

Everyone turned to stare at Leliana who had leaped from the corner, her palm to her forehead. “There's a secret passage into the castle…”

Leliana had nearly finished explaining how her adventures with the Hero of Ferelden had lead to her knowledge of the passage when the wooden door burst open with a startling thunk. Standing in the doorway was the tall, dusky mage from Redcliffe twiddling the corner of his mustache, a pleased smirk wiggling the hairs between his fingers. Behind him stood one of Cullen’s pages, frazzled, he tried to tug the mage back through the open door.

“I'm so sorry, Ser. He wouldn't stop, I couldn't—”

The mage brushed off the page’s feeble attempt at restraint and proceeded to dust off and flatten the portion of robe the boy had wrinkled. “As I told the lad, no matter your plan, you'll never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. If you're going after him, I'm coming along.”

Dorian seemed to notice Cullen’s reluctance and the page shying away from the Commander. He stepped toward Cullen, sweeping his robes around him so he could bow. “Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. Don't be too hard on the poor boy, he did try so very much to keep me out. I'm just a very hard man to say no to.” He winked at Cullen then tossed a smile to Rym.

She couldn't help but giggle at Cullen’s gaping maw. She only stopped when a gentle throat clearing reminded her that Solas was at her elbow.

“Quite right,” Dorian pointed at Solas,”No time to enjoy the view. Too much work to be done saving the world.”


	22. I Know How You Love to Play Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #ANTHEM chapter

Zephyr cursed as the map on his Storm’s User Interface flickered and died. “Owen?”

“I’m here, Zeph.”

“What just happened?”

“Keep going.”

“Owen!”

Owen laughed. Despite his growing agitation, it was the most beautiful sound Zephyr had ever heard. 

“I won’t let you get lost. Just keep going.” 

They were on a Contract. They really didn’t have time to play one of Owen’s games right now. In fact, if they didn't make good on this contract, they probably wouldn’t have enough coin for dinner tonight.

“Owen, we need the—”

“Money, yes, yes. I know, Zeph. It’s taken care of.”

Zephyr landed on the closest outcropping of rock and began pacing, his voice raised. “Taken care of? Owen, what the hell is going on? I know you like to play games, but if you came out here and did the contract on your own, if you—”

“Zeph!” His name sounded more like a curse word. After a moment of silence, Owen continued. “The contract will still be there tomorrow, but what I want to show you won’t be. Do you trust me?”

Heavy silence hung in the miles between them. Zephyr’s pulse raced. He wondered if Owen was similarly nervous.

“Yes.” A whisper.

“Good! Fly north!” Owen laughed again and Zephyr thought his chest might explode at the sound.

After a few moments of flying, Zephyr broke the comfortable silence. “You know, it’s not fair that you have all my vital signs. You can tell exactly what you do to me and I’m left out here in the dark.”

Owen chuckled. “I know. It’s great, isn’t it?”


	23. This is Not New, It Only Feels Like It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #ANTHEM chapter  
> #ANTHEM spoilers

“Picking up a strange signal ahead—”

Zephyr closed his eyes against the jolt of Faye’s voice in his comm. It had been weeks since he’d seen Owen at the Fortress of Dawn, since he’d looked into his best friend’s deep blue eyes and saw only anger, pain.

“—must be a relic.”

He swallowed hard and corrected his Storm javelin, narrowly missing the rock-face he’d been flying toward.

Faye’s silence was telling.

“Go ahead, Faye.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t say a word.”

“You wanted to.”

Still, his new—or old—cypher stayed quiet on the line.

His thoughts—the sick feeling he’d had since Owen left, the way Owen’s nose crinkled when he laughed, if he could’ve done anything differently to keep Owen with him—swirled endlessly within him and had begun to drag him down when he finally reached the relic.

Thank the Shapers. The relic was already spewing vicious, full-grown Ash Brutes.

“What are you doing?!” Faye’s panicked voice rang throughout his helmet as he landed in the middle of the swarming pack.

“Silencing the relic and eradicating hostiles.”

He cut the line.


	24. You Know This, You Know This to be True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s gone.  
> You know this.  
> You know this to be true.  
> But those memories just won’t let you believe it.

          The rotunda was colder than usual. One of the staff had come in and lit a fire in the hearth despite Solas’ absence and its orange blaze cast long shadows across the empty stone floor. His desk seemed completely undisturbed; papers, books, and a few incandescent shards still littered the top. Oriana was certain she was the only one who knew what was missing.  
          Solas had kept a small leather bound journal of all his journeys through the Fade. He’d read to her from it on multiple occasions, sometimes to show her the vast complexities and dark unknowns of the world they lived in and other times simply to help her fall asleep when the pain in her hand grew to be too much. That timeworn, faded leather book was gone. Solas was gone.  
          Flashbulb memories ran through her head like a flickering home movie spliced together frame by frame. Single images, half a phrase spoke in his calm, dulcet tones.

_“My name is Solas.”_

 

_His nose wrinkles as he tries to choke down a steaming cup of tea._

 

_“Not like that,” followed by a melodic chuckle as he wraps his arm around her and shows her the correct flourish for using the stray magic of the Veil to increase her offensive spells._ Even though it’s merely memory, she felt her face flame when she heard his rough breathing so close in her ear.

 

_His strong but delicate fingers encircling her wrists as he pulls her into him, surprising her with their first real kiss moments after she thought she’d ruined everything. The faint taste of lyrium and mint on his tongue._

 

_It’s nearly pitch black in the early hours of the morning before even the Skyhold staff has awoken and she finds him alone, studying an archaic book in a disused alcove of the fortress’s basement. His smile starts shy but shifts into something she can’t quite pin. It’s a smirk that has an almost animal-like quality to it. Before she can ask him what he’s researching, he has her pinned to the wall and his mouth is marking a trail from her chin to the tip of her ear. She shivers and knows it has nothing to do with the fact that this abandoned alcove hasn’t seen a fire in it’s hearth in decades, maybe longer. She crumbles beneath him._

 

          The memories crumbled, too. They morphed into something else. Something she didn’t want to remember.

 

_“I can’t.”  
_ _He’s disentangling himself from her grip, hot tears cutting down her bare face. They shouldn’t feel different than the tears she cried last week after receiving the news about her clan from Wycome, but they do._

 

_He’s bent over the broken foci, mouth pressed into a hard line._  
_“I’m sorry, I know finding it was important to you. Maybe we could still gather research.”  
_ _His eyes flash angrily and he ignores her. The silence feels like a gut punch in the wake of their shattered relationship. She turns away from not realizing it’s the last time she’ll ever see him._

 

          She opened her eyes and was greeted by the still empty rotunda. Something deep within her recesses—where she had pushed all her rage, fear, grief, and regret—snapped. She swept her arm across Solas’ desk in one quick motion, sending the contents resting atop it scattering into disarray. The books slammed onto the ground with echoing thuds and the loose leaf papers flew high into the air before drifting down to meet the books.  
          Not yet satisfied, she grabbed the corner of the desk itself and hauls it onto its side. The wood doesn’t crack, splinter, or snap like she had hoped, but just the fact that it’s askew and would drive Solas crazy is enough.  
          Panting heavily, her arms aching, but still not finished, she walked toward the colorful frescoes that covered most of the rotunda’s walls. She dragged her finger across the paint where the colors changed from red to orange to blue, each painstaking swath of color laid across wet plaster. She’d helped him mix the ash and lime.

 

_“Fenhedis!” She cursed as she rubbed the wet plaster off her arm, her skin already reddening from the caustic material. She wrapped it in a wet strip of cotton and tried to bite back the tears._  
_A soft thud landed behind her. Solas_ dusted off his hands as he rose from a crouch and the scaffolding behind him swayed from the force of his jump. He ignored the precarious contraption as he rushed toward her, his hands outstretched and his face contorted in a mixture of worry and fondness.  
_Before she’d even registered his movements, he’d taken her dagger from the desk behind her, conjured a lemon as if from nowhere, and sliced it in half. He discarded one half and slid the other across her arm, the cool, sticky juice soothing the burn from the plaster._    
_“How did you..?” She began._  
_He smiled crookedly. “This is far from my first mural. In fact, back home I used to grow lemons simply because I knew I would need them for this purpose. Now I need Josephine to import them from Nevara.” He sighed, his eyes growing cloudy and wistful as he continued to rub the fruit against her cooling skin._  
_Her fingers touched his smooth cheek. “Home?” She said.  
_ _He pushed the lemon into her hand and turned his back on her. “That’s a story for another time, I think.” He said as he sidled back up the scaffolding._

 

          Her breathing was heavy and irregular as she remembered how “another time” never came. The man who claimed to love her more than life itself, the man who said she was his heart never bothered to tell her anything about him at all. All he did was tear down her defenses and leave. Her chest heaved and hot tears streamed down her face. She kicked the bowl of plaster, set and useless after being left undisturbed for days. The metal bowl rattled across the stone floor, sending shockwaves of noise throughout the rotunda, but it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the memories.  
          She grabbed a jar of paint and flung it at the wall. Its ear-splitting crack against the wall a satisfying balm to her soul. She grabbed the greens and umbers, the dark pigments swirling into a muddy mess destroying the beautiful pieces she and Solas had worked so hard to build. She grabbed the blues and indigos, the vibrant colors collided and dripped down the empty expanse of wall Solas had left unfinished—barren and cold, alone. The last jar, a deep red. She snatched it and whipped her arm back, ready to hurl it onto the spilled contents of his desk scattered across the floor.  
          As her hand reared back, preparing for the throw, a single piece of paper caught her eye. Dark scratches of charcoal against bleached white velum. Somehow when he drew her, her just-a-little-too-big-ears seemed just right. Her knees gave out beneath her and she collapsed beside the drawing, the jar of paint in her hand broken and cascading across the streaks of charcoal, the last fragment of Solas she had left, nothing left but black and red swirls of pain.  
          She looked around at the destroyed memories and whimpered.


	25. Go Forward, Do Not Stray

Dawn. Before dawn. Dawn. The words kept echoing in her head, an uncomfortable reminder that the few precious moments left of her life were dwindling before her very eyes. She should've listened to Solas—he'd warned her time and time again that Morrigan was only working with the Inquisition for her own benefit. But no, she'd thought he was being dramatic. She let Morrigan drink from the Well of Sorrows and as soon as they were safe in Skyhold, the sorceress shifted into a raven and flew toward the horizon. The knowledge held within Well had been their last hope; without that knowledge, they had no chance of beating Corypheus and his horde of demons. They were already far outnumbered and now, without the knowledge of the Evanuris, they were outwitted.

Dawn. That was what Leliana’s scout had told her between half-panicked breaths. The horde had made it to Frostback Pass—they were mere hours from the Skyhold walls.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Dorian said as he shook one of the two large bottles he was holding, the liquid sloshing loudly against the glass.

“No. I need to keep a straight head.” Her answer was quick and firm, but Dorian chuckled at her.

“Elena, darling, do you really think we'll be here—” he stopped with his train of thought when he saw the pinched, angry look on her face. “I only mean a half a cup won't hurt anybody.” He grabbed a large goblet off the feasting table and returned to her beside the roaring fire.

She sighed, the words echoing in her head again. “Fine, a half a cup. But that's all! Just enough to get rid of this headache.”

But Dorian wasn't listening. He'd already poured the wine until the deep red liquid ran over the sides of the goblet.

“Dorian!”

“What?! It was an accident!” He laughed, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “Come on, don't make me drink alone.” He pulled a wooden chair closer to the fire and sat down, his expression quickly sobering. “All I want to do is spend my last few hours gossiping with my best friend. Can we do that?” There was a long pause as Elena stared at the stone floor. “Plus, if I go anywhere else, they'll give me a job to do and it's bloody cold out there.”

Elena looked up and let her eyes meet Dorian's. Immediately she felt the sting of emotion behind them. “Sure, lets gossip. Who's up first?” She sniffed back the threatening tears as she pulled up her own seat and took a gulp of the wine. It tasted like sweet berries on her tongue but burned down her throat and in her belly. The sensation was a blissful distraction. She took another swallow.

“I was rather hoping we could talk about you and our esteemed Commander,” Dorian said, his eyebrows wriggling.

Elena should’ve known better. He’d been trying to get the dirty details out of her for weeks now. Dorian had caught her barefoot, last night’s dirty knickers crumpled in her hand, trying to sneak into her quarter’s before sunrise. It had been the night they returned from Halamshiral. Her rendezvous with Cullen hadn’t been planned, but her jealous fuse had been lit watching all those pretty, young things prance and preen in front of him. She still wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do, but it certainly wasn’t throw her against his desk for the better part of the evening.

“See I knew it!” Dorian said, pointing at her wildly and spilling his wine. “You can’t even think about it without smiling!”

Before Dorian could ask for any unseemly details, the Great Hall’s door swung open, a blast of cold air and swirls of snow came rushing in. The flame guttered and Dorian swore, “Hey! Shut the door! The Inquisitor is losing heat over here! She's very sensitive you know!”

Elena rolled her eyes, but was thankful none the less when the door slammed shut. The Iron Bull was weighted down with half a dozen swords, firewood stacked so high he couldn't see where he was going, and daggers packed away in every pocket of his large trousers.

“Thought you might need these,” he grunted and dropped everything unceremoniously next to the hearth.

Dawn.

“Yes. Thank you, Bull.” Elena drained the rest of her goblet and let Dorian pour her another. “How are you two, then?”

Dorian’s face screwed up tight, but Bull interrupted before he could launch into whatever tirade he had prepared. “We’re good.” The simple, adoring look on Bull’s face as he looked across the shadows at Dorian warmed Elena more than the fire ever could. “Any regrets, Kadan?”

Immediately, Dorian’s tension eased. “You know I don’t, Amatus.”

The door banged open, wind driving in snow and hail, but it only took a moment before Blackwall and Sera were able to slam it shut again. “My sincerest apologies, Inquisitor.” He nodded to the others.

“How’s it looking out there?” Dorian asked.

Sera snorted. “Peachy. Coryphytits will have a time getting through the defenses, if nothing else. And Cullen will have a time getting back into his desk. I glued all his drawers shut.” She beamed, the pride dripping off of her.

“I don’t think he needs to get into his desk, so much as just get onto it.” Bull muttered.

Dorian gasped and slapped Bull on the chest. “No! You had details and you didn’t tell me!”

“My room is only so far away…and the guards were trying to give them a respectful berth.” Bull winked at Elena.

She buried her face in her hands.

“Is that why the desk is all wonky on one side?” Sera said, grabbing one of the swords off the floor and parrying an invisible opponent.

Dorian gasped. “You trollop!” The world held as much affection as it did excitement.

Cold air rushed in again as Vivienne, Leliana, and Josephine slipped in, Vivinne holding the door at bay and quietly closing it with a force spell.

“The first battalion mages are in place and prepared for what may come. The rest are trying to get what sleep they can,” Vivienne informed the room, her head held high but her eyes a little drawn around the edges.

Elena nodded and swam in the rush of affection she felt for Dorian as he stirred his wine with his pinky and mouthed ‘trollop.’ He also looked tired and worn, a crease had developed between his brows after Leliana’s scout returned with news of the dawn and had yet to recede, but he knew her more than anyone. If they were to have their best advantage, she would need to be rested and if sleep wouldn’t come, she could at least be relaxed.

“I don’t know, Cassandra! It was in my drawer. We’ll have to go based on memory,” Cullen held the door to the Solas’ rotunda open for Cassandra. When he turned around, all eyes on were on him, and a bright pink blush rose from his neck to meet the wind whipped red of his cheeks.“Um, hello Inquisitor, everyone.”

Elena chewed her lip, her eyes falling to the cracks in the stone floor.

Dorian coughed, a loud and conspicuous noise that sounded like it could’ve had a word or two hidden in between the racks. Bull slapped him heartily on the back and gave him a stern glare. “That's enough, Kadan.” Bull’s hand slid across Dorian’s back and rested on the edge of his chair.

“Was Solas still pouring over his books?” Elena asked Cassandra, mostly as a distraction when Cullen came to stand behind her, warming his cold armor by the fire, his fingers dancing lightly over her shoulder as it rested on the edge of her chair.

“Yes, I’m not sure there’s anything in those big, dusty books that will help at this point. But any port in a storm, I suppose,” Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned against the table, eyeing the half-empty pitcher of wine.

“Help yourself, it might make the dying a little easier,” Dorian muttered.

The crowd erupted in bitter arguments and chastisement at Dorian’s remark. Cassandra shook her finger at him as she quoted the Chant of Light; Josephine, Vivienne, and Leliana argued among themselves, gesturing in his direction on occasion; Elena felt Cullen’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder as he mumbled, “Maker preserve me.” Blackwall, Sera, and Bull all looked halfway between amusement and agreement, Blackwall going as far as to pull the pitcher toward himself and pour another goblet of drink.

“Bitter and bumbling; blaming the witch for borrowed words.” Cole’s ghostly form blinked into appearance, sitting cross-legged on the floor, the centerpiece between their circle of chairs.

“Vishante Kafas!” Dorian screeched, one hand to his chest while the other held his goblet at arm’s length to prevent splashing.

“When did you get here, demon?” Vivienne asked, her grey eyes chilled to match the color of the coming Wintermarch dawn.

“I have been here since the beginning,” Cole smiled at her, his response indicative that he either didn’t recognize Vivienne’s distaste for him or chose to ignore it. “Since Elena’s thought called out such happiness and compassion in the Fade.”

For a brief moment, Elena thought he’d stop there and breathed a hefty sight of relief.

But Cole continued, “Rough and reckless, heavenly and heated, it wasn’t what you came for, but it’s what you wanted.” His eyes cleared and he turned his piercing gaze on Cullen. “Is that why your desk is so big?”

“Five sovereigns says that’s not the only thing thats bi—Ow!” Dorian rubbed the back of his head and glared at Cassandra who feigned a great and sudden interest in her nails.

“Careful now, Seeker, we’ve only got one of him,” Varric smirked as he used his back to push the door the undercroft closed, his arms weighed down with a towering stack of bolts for his crossbow.

“Good to see you haven’t abandoned us, Varric,” Cassandra said, her mouth turned down at the edges but her eyes sparkled with what mirth could be mustered on the eve of battle.

“And leave you to your doom? Never. Besides, who’s going to write about how all this ends if I’m not here?”

The door to Solas’ rotunda swings open and hits the wall with the deafening smack. “I’ve got it! Inquisitor!” The mage, his lips drawn down in a serious frown and dark circles under his eyes, scurried over to Elena, bumping into Blackwall and spilling Sera’s drink along the way.

“Arsebucket.”

He practically shoved the tome into her face and pointed at the relevant passage. “Read.”

A hushed silence fell around the group as Elena tried to read the script as quickly as possible. After she read it through a third time, she said, “It could work.”

“It will work!” Solas insisted.

“Cullen,” Elena turned around in her seat and grasped the Commander’s hands, her head tilted back to look him squarely in the eyes. “Gather your troops, I believe I have a speech to make.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Go Forward, Do Not Stray”
> 
> Is the theme of her speech :)


	26. But If You Cannot See It, Is It Really There?

“Guards!”

His long, bony fingers wrapped around her small wrist and pulled her down the street. She had to run twice as fast to keep up with his 6’4” strides.

“Where are we going?” She held back a squeal of delight as he jerked her into a dark alley, his feet slipping on the wet stone walkway.

Her senses exploded as his feverish body boxed her body against the cold brick of the building, his chest brushing against hers. “Somewhere safe,” he panted into the curls that tickled her forehead.

She wanted to say something, anything; her mind raced with half-formed thoughts but the proximity of his body dominated all her focus.

“Jul—” her words died on her lips when he dipped his head, his shaggy locks falling like a curtain around them. Her heart hammers in her chest, an ache she hasn’t been able to shake since the first time they met. They’ve only been together a handful of times now and yet there’s a warmth to the way he says her name, a comfort in the way his fingers lace through hers, a familiarity that should take a lifetime to build.

“Yes?” Grey eyes blinked down at her through thick, dark lashes.

She used her nose to nuzzle the collar of his coat out of the way and inhales the mingling scents of wolfsbane and stale coffee. He pressed in closer to her. She choked on the words as they come out, hating herself even as she says them, “Now doesn’t seem the best time to,” she brushed a featherlight kiss on his jaw to illustrate her point. “What if—They’ll kill you if they catch you.”

He took one finger and hooked it under her chin, lifting her face to his. “Oh, darling, if you cannot see them, are they really there?”


	27. Remember, You Have to Remember

Solas’ dug his toes into the frozen earth of the Frostbacks and stared at the towers cutting swaths of darkness across the twilit sky. Tarasyl’an Te’las—Skyhold—had been empty almost four years now. Oriana and what was left of the Inquisition had left the castle as soon as their realized Solas’ plans and his ties to the land. It hadn’t been hard to find their new location as she chased him across all of Thedas, both of them leaving a regrettable trail of bodies in their wake. Now the time had come to make his final move. To complete one last spell in his place of power. To bring down the Veil. It hadn’t cost much. Only a piece of his soul. He turned and gazed at the expansive idol of Fen’Harel, the marble wolf crouched and ready to strike, his emerald eyes glowing fiercely against the white stone. 

Against his better judgement he let his eyes wonder down. A drop of blood marred the white wolf’s paw. At the edge of the base a line of blood dripped until it met a wide puddle of crimson. He swallowed the lump growing in his throat and blinked repeatedly, his eyes as dry as the Wastes during winter. Oriana lay contorted by the base of the Fen’Harel idol, her leg twisted at a wrong angle and her mouth open in a gentle slope.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bending down and brushing the hair behind her ear, shuddering at the chill of her skin. “None of this was in vain. I will remember everything. Every detail. Every laugh, kiss, smile. Every fight. Every time you threw a book at my face or cursed at me in Elvish. Every time you snuck up behind me and wrapped your arms around my middle in a delicate embrace. Every detail.”

He swallowed hard, the lump still persisting, and stood facing the wide expanse of the valley once more. He raised his stave to the sky and began to pull the mana from the air, one last thought running through his head before the complex spell encompassed him, ‘Remember. You must remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for this one. I like the idea, but I was fighting sleep hard when I wrote this one. I tried to edit it...but it still didn’t turn out the way I wanted it, too. But at this point, I want Fictober ‘18 to be complete so I can focus on my revamp of Unharrowed.


	28. I Felt It, You Know What I Mean

Kaidan squinted at the coffee that had long since grown cold, a milky grey film settling on top of the caramel colored liquid.

“Elysia Shepard is the best damn N7 I’ve ever seen. For all we know, she could still be out there. Her file is listed as Missing In Action and will stay as such for as long as I have anything to say about it.” Anderson pushed away his half-eaten creuller and eyed Kaidan across the table.

“No. She’s gone.”

He could bring himself to look at the Captain, but he could feel his superior’s eyes narrow on him. “You were the last one I expected would give up hope, Alenko. Why would say that?”

Kaidan took a sip of the putrid coffee to hide his shuddering breath. “Because I felt it, you know what I mean?”


	29. At Least It Can’t Get Any Worse

The Asari dancer has almost finished her routine. She’s only wearing a thong now and is bent over backward on the table. She inches forward on her knees and her powder blue belly is only inches from my nose. She folds down on her knees so that her back is flat against the table and I can see her spread out on the table just for me.

I should be enjoying this, but all I can think about are the horrible words we exchanged on Horizon.

She catches my eye and pouts, clearly aware that I’m not invested in her dancing. She lifts my last shot of raspberry moonshine from the bartender upstairs and wiggles it at me with a gleam in her eye.

She lifts her glistening abdomen up to me and lays back down, seemingly appeased when I crack a smile. She pours my shot into her bellybutton and I think, ‘what the hell.’ I bend down and suck the liquid out of her bellybutton, licking the runaway trail of alcohol up her stomach, between her breasts and down her neck. Her laugh stirs my hair and she offers me her other services before I pull back.

I hear his words echoing in my head again, even as I watch this beautiful woman writhing in front of me. “You turned your back on everything we believed in. You betrayed the Alliance. You betrayed me.”

As I stand up the asari dancer grips my wrist and pouts. She is beautiful and I have always been curious how their services are different than whatever it was Liara did to help us find Saren. I let her pull me into her and our lips crash together. She tastes bittersweet, a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and honey.

You betrayed me.

I pull away slightly and she lets go, her head tilted in an obvious question.

I shake me head, let her know I’m okay, and go back in for another kiss. Even if I end up having to pay for whatever it is we end up doing, I need the distraction. I can’t handle this track on repeat anymore.

She breaks the kiss and I try to lean in again, but she’s already kissing my jaw and marking a trail all the way from my ear to my neck. She stops at the hollow just above my collar bone and starts to suckle at the tender skin. An explosion of pleasure and pain makes me cry out, a sound thankfully drowned out by the thumping of Afterlife’s music. Her hand slides up my shirt and her skin is like a fever traveling from my navel to my breast. Her delicate fingers stop just shy of my nipples and I want to scream. God, please, just distract me.

She yells into my ear just loud enough to be heard over the din, “Let’s go somewhere private.”

I nod, but hold up my finger asking her for a minute. If I’m going to fuck the memory of Kaidan away, I’m going to need more alcohol.

I don’t want to lose my nerve or my mood, so I don’t bother going upstairs for the raspberry moonshine. I go to the batarian who’s tending bar right here and get whatever’s on tap. It’s a sweet smelling blue liquid. He smiles at me and I smile back, downing the whole drink in one go.

I’m halfway back to the table when I’m hit with the worst headache I’ve ever had in my entire life. My vision goes black and I fall to my knees. I don’t remember much after that. Maybe some noise and the feverish hands of the asari.

Then him.

The lights are too bright and they surround him like a halo as he look down at me. Why is he even here?

“Shepard?! Shepard?!”

His fingers run through my hair, brushing a lock out of my face and I swear if I wasn’t already dead, that would’ve sent me over the edge.

I try to talk and it takes a few attempts. My throat feels like I drank battery acid. “K-k—” I swallow, but it doesn’t help. Then the asari from the club hands Kaidan a glass of water that he helps to my lips. “Kaidan.” I try not to smile like an idiot, but it’s no use.

But Kaidan isn’t smiling. In fact, his neck is a little purple under the collar, a subtle indication that he’s trying to restrain his biotics. He’s furious.

“Glad to know you’re still capable of enjoying yourself.” His eyes flicker to the barely covered Asari on my other side and I would bother feeling ashamed if my head didn’t hurt so damn badly.

“I almost died and you’re going to play the jealous boyfriend?” I snap and sit up, shoving his hand and the proffered water away from me.

He opens his mouth but snaps it shut again.

“Are you okay?” The asari asks, her head tilted in the most innocent fashion. I’m fairly certain she hasn’t picked up on any of the awkward subtext between Kaidan and I and I wonder how long I’d been out. Even worse, what she and Kaidan had talked about while I was unconscious.

“I’m fine, just a headache.” I finally take the water from Kaidan who is still following me around and badgering me with it. He seems pleased, although the smile lasts less than half a second when I accept the cup. “What happened?”

Kaidan runs a hand through his hair.

“And why are you here?” I wince when I see the hurt look quickly taken over by shock and anger flash across Kaidan’s face.

“I’m here on Spectre business.” He crosses his arm and takes a step backward. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”

The asari—I really should know her name, my tongue was in her bellybutton—interrupts us as though no one was even speaking.

“That batarian bartender is known for that, for slipping dextrose-based drinks to humans? I’m pretty sure you’re the first to survive.”

She says it like it’s something to be proud of, not like anyone is even slightly concerned about the batarian and his antihuman leanings.

“He’ll wish I hadn't.” After a brief moment of strategizing, I turn back to the asari. “Go back to Afterlife. Keep an eye on him. Call me if he leaves.” The asari immediately starts to do as she's told, but stops to kiss me on the cheek. I'm too startled to do much of anything except stare at Kaidan's and touch where I’m pretty certain is a soft pink lipstick stain.

The hotel room door closes softly behind her and Kaidan scrubs his hands down his face. “The asari clearly love you. Charming one batarian should be a breeze.” He mutters it and I'm not sure if he intended me to hear.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn't say anything.

“If you have something to say, Major Alenko,” I close the space between us in two steps, “now is the time to do it.” My nose is almost close enough to touch his chin. I refuse to left myself look at his soft, gorgeous mouth. The mouth that suddenly I can’t stop thinking about. The mouth that has covered my body in delicate, featherlight kisses in the comfort of my private quarters; the mouth that has stolen kisses, frantic and desperate, in the dark corridors of the Normandy where hopefully no one could see.

God damn it. I shake away the memories enough to realize I’ve been staring at his mouth. He, on the other hand, is looking directly into my eyes. His usually honey brown irises have grown dark, almost completely black in his restrained rage.

“I thought what we had meant something,” he says through gritted teeth.

“It did!” I can’t help but to lay both my hands across his chest, taking another step forward. Not that there was much space between us to begin with. “It does,” I say quieter.

“Who was she?”

He doesn’t pull back, but he isn’t looking at me. His face is twisted awkwardly away, an angle I’m sure must hurt his neck. My face burns with shame and I’m glad he isn’t watching me, that he can’t see the horrific shade of violet tinting my cheeks.

“I don’t know,” I finally say.

That’s when he pulls away, a sudden and violent act that feels like the heartbreak of Horizon all over again.

“Kaidan—” I start, my voice warbling from the tears that silently break over my eyelids.

“No.” He cuts me off as he braces his forearm against the window and looks out over the bustling nightlife of Omega. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Shepard.” His shoulders sank as he let out a deep sigh. “We haven’t been together in over two years. Hell, we were only dating for a month. If you could even call it that.”

His words knock the air out of like the time I took a krogan charge to the back. Eventually I am able to stutter, “What would you call it?” I don’t want to know his answer, but at this point, I’m not sure he can say anything to make this worse. After all, I started it by taking body shots off an asari in front of him. Or maybe I started it when I agreed to work with Cerberus. Hell, it could even be my fault for starting a relationship with a subordinate officer. Either way, he never asked for any of this.

“Fraternization.”

I was wrong before. This was the verbal equivalent of a krogan charge to the back. The sun has gone down completely now and the only light left in the hotel room is from the neon lights flashing below. It gives me just enough light to navigate around the coffee table and come within arms reach of him, although I stop just short. My heart pounds in my ears and if he says anything, I’m sure I didn’t hear it. I’m surprised by how steady my voice is when I’m finally able to open my mouth. “How dare you?” The words are slow and roiling as they leave my lips, an uninhibited darkness.

He turns to look at me, eyes wide with surprise.

“How dare I?” He half screeches, his biotics flaring. “Shepard! You died! You left me!” The neon lights cast wild shadows across his face. It makes it harder to read the true feelings underneath. His energy breaks and even in the quiet, his voice cracks, “You didn’t bother to even come see me when you woke up.”

There are a million things I want to say to defend myself. I couldn’t, I had to save the world. Cerberus wouldn’t let me, He was part of the Alliance. He was busy with his investigations. Anderson stonewalled me. But really…if I’m honest, I was just scared. But I can’t say any of those things to him.

“For all I knew,” he continues, “you had found somebody new. You and Garrus were always close.”

An untold rage snaps inside me. We’d had this fight before. We’ve both apologized after having this fight, too. Hell, I even know his insecurity comes from his past with Rahna and he does, too. But I can’t stop myself.

“God damn it, Kaidan! You know me!” Now I’m screeching.

“I don’t know, Shepard! I used to!”

He grabs my wrist and stops my slap three inches from his face and glares at me. We stand in place, frozen with his hand on mine for one too many heartbeats. But then the slightest movement, just one finger. His hand loosens around my wrist and I feel his index finger slide up my palm. My heart drops from my chest.

A whisper, “Ka—”

His mouth is on mine with such force it’s almost painful. But it’s a welcome pain. A pain so preferably to the ball and chain of hurt and regret I’ve been lugging around since Horizon. He softens the kiss as he opens up to me. God, he tastes the same, a wash of coffee and toothpaste to cover up the one cigarette he had when he just couldn’t handle whatever was stressing him out this week. I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck when I realize that I was probably what he couldn’t handle this week. I break the kiss and nuzzle into his neck, the smell of freshly laundered clothes and something reminiscent of chlorine from his biotics all too comforting, all too familiar.

He runs his hand through my hair and it sends a chill down my spine. I can tell he’s debating his next move—ever the tactician—as I stand in his arms, my breath hot against his neck. What can only be a couple seconds feels like hours, but then he makes his decision. One arm tightens on my back while the other slides under my hips and lifts me up. Instinctively, as though no time has passed at all and we’re back in my bunk on the SR-1, I wrap my legs around his waist and try to kiss him between my laugh. “I think we’re supposed to be doing something.” My tongue traces the outer edge of his ear and his breath hitches. “Arresting somebody.” I nibble, just a little too hard, and he chides me through a throaty chuckle. “A batarian, right?”

My back slams into the other wall and I can feel how hard he is, pressed up against me. He doesn’t reply, he just shakes his head and unbuttons the top-most button of my blouse. His fingers still before moving on to the second button and I freeze, afraid he’s realized he’s suddenly made a horrible mistake and he couldn’t possibly sleep with someone with ties to Cerberus.

But no.

He looks at me, his eyes that beautiful milky, honey color, and runs his finger down my cheek. I’m not sure why he’s stopped and I’m about to ask, when he says, “Can I?” His fingers falling from my feverish skin to the buttons on my blouse.

He’s still holding me against the wall, so I nod and take the opportunity to roll my hips into his. He groans, his eyes closing against the sensation. When he opens them again, he grabs both sides of my blouse and tears. It’s nothing like the movies. We both look down at the rumpled shirt, two or three buttons missing, the rest still attached just as surely as they were a moment ago. His laugh is deep and rich and I can’t remember a time he’s ever laughed so freely.

I take pity on him and lift it over my head.

When he sees the lack of clothing underneath, he goes silent. His hand reverently traces every curve of my chest, his thumb coming to a stop just under my nipple.

“Are you sure you don’t want to arrest the—”

He looks up, his mouth set in mock anger. “Elysia Shepard, I swear to god, if you mention that batarian one more time—”

“Just checking,” I wiggle out between him and wall. Grabbing his belt, I pull him toward the large glass window with the flashing neon signs of the city below. “I know I’ll remember this. Let’s make sure Omega does, too.”


	30. Do We Really Have to Do This Again

He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He stood at a regal 6’4,” all lean muscle and long limbs. His black leggings and tight white t-shirt clung to him in ways she should be used to after fifteen years in a dance studio, but she didn’t notice she was still staring until someone yelled her name.

“Daniela!”

She shook her head clear of his trance. “Sorry, yes, here.”

“Welcome to the Academy. I hope you’ve found your transfer suitable, thus far. You’ll be paired with Solas, have you met?” The severe woman with a bun drawn so tight her eyes arched gestured toward the beautiful man stretching with his foot extended on the barre.

“Not yet,” her ears turned burgundy.

“Well, better get acquainted. Today we’ll be practicing Pas De Deux.”

The woman with the bun waved Solas toward them. “Solas, this is Daniela Lavellan. She’ll be your partner this semester.”

His eyes narrowed, his expression cooling by the second, but he took her hand just the same.

“You’re new, then?” He heaved a great sigh, before returning to the barre to continue warming up. “Better get started.”


	31. I’ve Waited So Long For This

She could feel the heat radiating from every inch of him. His hands burned into hips as she spun in slow pirouettes, his chest sent bursts of heat into her with each twirl. She could barely focus. They’d been practicing for nearly a month and every time she was with him, all she could think about was how his skin felt against hers. How his breath felt as it stirred the curls that had fallen from her messy bun. How he smelled of sandalwood and mint.

Unfortunately, despite their constant practice, their Pas De Deux was still suffering. Each time he dipped her during the penche, he seemed to lose his grip on her and she’d consequently lose her balance.

She finished her pirouettes and extended her leg backward, wrapping it slightly behind him as she bent forward, letting him assist her in the forward bow. For the eighth time that session, Solas dipped her too low and she lost her balance, tumbling to the floor.

He rolled his eyes and ran both hands over his head.

“We’ve been at it for hours.” Instead of clambering off the floor, Daniela extended one leg out and began to stretch. “Let’s just take a quick break and start fresh.”

“Look, if you can’t do a penche adagio, why are you even here?”

She’d gotten used to his snapping when frustrated, but he’d never questioned her ability before. It grated on her last nerve. She popped up on her feet. “You arrogant son of a bitch!”

He’d opened his mouth to say something, but Daniela wasn’t in the mood to argue. They’d spent the last four and half hours practicing and hadn’t improved at all. She turned toward the door and marched away from him.

His long fingers wrapped around her wrist and spun her back into him, her body slamming into his, his body-heat burning into her from chest to knees. She looked up at him surprised, but before she could say a word, his mouth pressed hard onto hers. She can’t hear anything over the beating of her own heart. Nothing seems to exist but the two of them. Nothing but his hands roving over her body, his tongue exploring the shape of her lips. He softens the kiss to something so delicate it leaves an ache in her chest and she never wants it to stop. But it does.

When he pulls away, his usually porcelain pallor is tinged with pink and he’s smirking. “I’m sorry I was rude. Let me make it up to you?”


End file.
